Tainted
by R.L.Peverell
Summary: EWE. The war is over, but Voldemort isn't as dead as everyone believes. Harry returns to Hogwarts, expecting a normal school year, but a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle has other ideas. It seems sometimes the line between good and evil is very blurry and fascination and hate can easily coexist. Features: powerful!Harry, Dark Arts, Slytherin schemes, and very twisted love.
1. Obsession

**Title**: Tainted

**Pairings**: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Draco Malfoy/OMC(Sebastian Rosier), minor het and slash pairings

**Spoilers**: Compliant with Deathly Hallows but ignores the epilogue.

**Summary**: EWE. The war is over, but Voldemort isn't as dead as everyone believes. Harry returns to Hogwarts, expecting a normal school year, but a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle has other ideas. It seems sometimes the line between good and evil is very blurry and fascination and hate can easily coexist. Features: powerful!Harry, Dark Arts, Slytherin schemes, and very twisted love.

**Warnings**: slash, sexual content, strong language, darkish Harry, underage sex(Harry is 18, Tom is 16), top!Harry.

**A/N: ** Some readers appear to be surprised that Harry is tall. In the books, it is said that Harry was short for his age when he was eleven. That, however, doesn't mean he stayed that way. In Deathly Hallows, it is said that he's exactly the same height as James, who is described as a "tall, thin man." So by the end of the seventh book, Harry is tall, and since this story isn't AU, he is tall in this story as well.

Enjoy.

* * *

_"You either die the hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain."_

_— Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight_

**Chapter 1**

...

...

"This is a joke," he said, looking blankly at McGonagall. "Tell me this is a bloody joke."

The headmistress's face remained gravely serious. "I am afraid I am not joking, Mr. Potter."

Harry laughed. He knew he sounded nearly hysterical, but who could blame him, really?

Bloody hell. He couldn't wrap his mind around the mere idea. He just couldn't.

When he'd received McGonagall's owl this morning, requesting him to come to Hogwarts to discuss a matter of great importance, that was the last thing he expected.

"How?" he managed finally. "He's dead. He was dead. I killed him—you saw it, you were there, professor!"

Leaning back in her chair, McGonagall sighed. "I am not sure, Harry. I am inclined to think that Voldemort had done something no long before the final battle, after he found out that his horcruxes were being destroyed. It is possible he performed another ritual to ensure his immortality, or at least a semblance of it. I do not know anything for certain, even Severus didn't." A shadow crossed McGonagall's face, as it often did lately at the mention of Snape. Harry knew that she had taken Snape's death particularly hard upon finding out about his true allegiance.

"Severus's notes were informative, but there was nothing on the matter. He only mentioned that Voldemort was particularly reclusive and secretive by the end. It appears that closer to the end of the war, Voldemort trusted no one, not even Severus whom he believed to be his most loyal follower after...after Severus killed Albus."

"But _how_?" Harry said through his teeth. He would be calm, damn it. He was calm. He _was _calm. He wouldn't damage McGonagall's office. "We destroyed all his horcruxes. He should be gone for good!"

McGonagall's shoulders slumped. She frowned, looking very tired. "I don't know. I'm afraid only Voldemort could answer that." She closed her eyes for a moment before meeting his gaze. "I went to school with him, Harry. Tom Riddle was many things, had done many terrible things, but truth be told, he was the most brilliant wizard I have ever known. If there was anyone who could accomplish such a feat, it was him." She looked almost...sad.

"Okay," Harry said, taking a deep breath. He curled his hands into fists.

He had to calm himself. He didn't have the luxury of losing his temper. Especially not in front of McGonagall. Not in front of _anyone_.

It was easier said than done.

Since the Battle of Hogwarts, he could barely control his temper and magic. No one knew the extent of his problem, but Hermione still noticed something and wouldn't leave him alone. She had a whole theory that involved his traumatic childhood, constant scrutiny and expectations, post-traumatic stress, and so on and so forth. The last time they had talked, she even tried to gently suggest that he needed to see a psychologist. Harry had to disagree with her. Their _disagreement _resulted in a destroyed room and a very upset Mrs. Weasley. They still weren't talking.

Harry pushed the thoughts away; in the light of McGonagall's news, their argument felt so insignificant and stupid. "Alright. How did you even find out about it, professor?"

McGonagall fidgeted a bit. "We found him right after the final battle."

"What?" Harry jumped to his feet in outrage. Behind him, something shattered. "It's been months! Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why keep it secret for so bloody long?"

McGonagall gave him a stern look. "Language, Potter. Sit down and control yourself."

Harry glowered at her. She glowered back.

Only when Harry did as told, she continued, "When we found him, we didn't know what to do. Mr. Potter - Harry, you should understand that the timing was ...unfortunate. Everyone was celebrating the end of the war, and if we... I could not take it away from them. Not after so many losses."

Harry looked down, biting his lip.

_Andromeda, sobbing over her daughter's body; Mrs. Weasley's empty eyes as she clutched Fred, and Arthur trying to comfort her that he died a hero; Colin Creevey's mother crying hysterically that he was just a boy, her little boy_—

Harry swallowed and nodded curtly, and she continued. "Hagrid and I were the ones who found him, and incidentally, we were one of the few people who knew Tom Riddle in his youth and could recognize him." She looked away, pursing his lips. "Rubeus wanted to kill him, but I couldn't let him do it. He's just a child, Harry. He's not He."

"He is," Harry hissed out, jumping to his feet again and starting to pace the room. "He's not just a child—never has been. You don't know what he's capable of, professor! He's cruel, and nasty—and—he's a murderer already! He killed Myrtle when he was bloody sixteen! He nearly killed Ginny when he was just a diary! How can you say that he's just a child? He isn't!"

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, unimpressed with his outburst. "I'm fully aware of those facts, but we're not killers."

Harry snorted.

"Killing in the heat of a battle, and killing in cold blood are different matters entirely, Harry," she said, looking disappointed in him. "Surely you are not suggesting me to kill a defenceless sixteen-year-old boy, who's forced to deal with suddenly ending up fifty years in the future, in a world where his death is celebrated on national level?"

Harry grimaced and chose not to comment on the "defenceless boy" part.

"So what are you going to do with him? I can guess you didn't give him to the Aurors."

"No, I didn't, and I don't intend to," McGonagall said before pausing. "He's going to attend Hogwarts."

For a moment, Harry could only gape at her. "Are you out of your mind?"

McGonagall gave him a stern glare. "Mr. Potter, you may be the Saviour of the Wizarding World, but here in Hogwarts, you're just a student and I'm your Headmistress. If you continue to use such a disrespectful tone, you will be in detention for the entire term. Is that understood?"

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it when McGonagall have him a hard, warning look.

Harry's jaw tightened. He sighed. "Yes, Professor. Sorry."

McGonagall's expression softened.

"Harry," she said, her voice softening as well. "I understand how hard it must be for you. I understand that you were looking forward to finally having a life free of him. I wish I didn't have to make you deal with any version of Tom Riddle ever again, but we have no choice. He can't go to Azkaban. Even if I wished to, punishing him for Myrtle's death is not possible, as we cannot prove it without telling everyone about the Diary Riddle's confession to you. And you very well know that we cannot do it."

Harry nodded, albeit reluctantly. Telling the general public about horcruxes was out of question. The details of Voldemort's defeat had been glossed over to omit any mention of the horcruxes and the Hallows, and it had been done for a reason: it was too dangerous. Harry didn't want anyone to find out he was the master of the Elder Wand, and no one wanted Dark wizards to learn about horcruxes.

"I see you understand," McGonagall said. "While it's not possible to hand him to the authorities, I'm fully aware what he's capable of. We need to keep an eye on him. Therefore he's attending Hogwarts."

"How are you even going to pull it off?" Harry grumbled. "People are going to freak out when they see him."

"You're forgetting that most people don't even know Voldemort's real name. Even those who used to know Tom Riddle back in his school days, hardly connect him to the Dark Lord. No one knew of his origins, not even his followers. Those few who knew belonged to his first Inner Circle, but all of them are long dead." A flicker of amusement crossed her face. "Who would connect a charming teenage boy to that reptile-like creature?"

Harry snorted. "So what, did you forge his documents or something?"

For the first time that day, McGonagall looked truly uncomfortable. "Indeed. Everyone would know him as Tom Vergne, a sixth-year transfer student from a small wizarding school in Wales. The headmaster of the school is my old friend, and Kingsley was kind enough to provide me with all necessary documents."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Shacklebolt agreed to forge his ID? Blimey, he's the Minister of Magic!"

If possible, McGonagall looked even more uncomfortable. "He doesn't know the truth. I told him the boy was my distant relative, whose parents were killed in the war and whose documents were lost. Kingsley had no reason to distrust me, and, as the Minister, he had too many matters to worry about to check the boy's background."

"Looks like you have everything covered," Harry muttered with a scowl. "Where's he now?"

"Mr. Riddle, or rather, Mr. Vergne, is here, in the castle."

Harry went still. "Here?" he repeated, his heart speeding up.

She raised an eyebrow. "He has nowhere else to be."

"I want to see him."

McGonagall frowned, eyeing him warily. "I do not think it is wise, Potter."

"With all due respect, professor, I'm doing it anyway," Harry said, turning to leave.

"Potter-"

"I won't kill him, don't worry," he threw over his shoulder.

Her voice stopped him when he almost reached the door. "Mr. Potter, this information must stay between us. Of course, Ms. Weasley is going to be informed as well, but other than that, the less people know, the better."

"Of course, professor," Harry said, not without sarcasm. "I understand completely. For the Greater Good and all that."

He left, wondering if the tendency to keep things from him was inherited with the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts. At least she deigned to tell him in three days' advance.

As soon as he was out of her office, he pulled out the Marauder's map.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," he whispered, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Hogwarts was empty but for a few professors here and there, since the reparations were finally finished a few days ago.

His heart skipped a beat when his eyes zeroed on the dot by the lake.

_Tom Riddle_.

He stared at the dot, feeling like he couldn't breathe. It was real. It really was happening.

Slowly, he closed the map and headed towards the exit of the castle.

Once outside, he quickened his steps, irrationally feeling like he needed to hurry.

_For all intents and purposes, he's sixteen, Mr. Potter. He doesn't remember anything beyond his fifth year. He's just a boy. A confused, innocent boy._

Harry snorted, recalling McGonagall's words. If Riddle was innocent, he would eat his wand.

Halfway to the lake, he sensed it: magic. It was almost calling to him. He stopped, bewildered and out of breath. He couldn't remember ever sensing Voldemort's magic so clearly from such a big distance, and yet, yet... It was weirdly, achingly familiar, and he felt his own magic flare up in response.

Shaking the strange feeling off, Harry resumed walking.

He came to an abrupt halt again upon seeing a dark-haired boy sitting under an oak, seemingly engrossed in a big book. It was _Twenty Greatest Wizards and Witches of the Twentieth Century_. Harry knew the book; it came out just a month ago. Hermione had been very proud that he was named the very greatest, but Harry didn't feel particularly flattered and honoured, no matter what she had said, especially considering the fact that they named the murderer of his parents the second greatest wizard.

Adjusting his wand in his hand, Harry headed to him. When he was a few feet away, Riddle finally lifted his head.

It was like a physical blow to his chest.

Riddle looked exactly the same as he remembered: handsome, aristocratic features, slightly wavy black hair, pale skin, lips that looked almost red in contrast, and dark eyes that burned with odd intensity.

Harry wet his lips, his pulse thundering and palms suddenly sweaty.

Riddle's eyes narrowed slightly. Then, he smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "Harry Potter, I presume?"

"Riddle," he heard himself say, voice empty and flat. "You should be dead."

Riddle laughed, the sound so normal and _human _that it threw Harry off. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Harry. Can I call you Harry? After all, it's not every day you meet your murderer-" With a mock-gasp, he brought a finger to his lips. "Oh, wait. I'm alive. "

"Ha bloody ha." Harry said coldly, tightening his fingers around his wand. Merlin, he was itching to hex the bastard. "We can always rectify that."

All trace of mirth left Riddle's face so suddenly that it looked unnatural. He sneered slightly, getting to his feet, so that they were face to face now. "Can you? I see you are very sure of yourself, Harry Potter."

Memory was a funny thing. Harry remembered Riddle as being very tall and physically intimidating, but they were actually exactly the same height now. It made sense; of course Riddle would seem impossibly tall and imposing to a scrawny twelve-year-old, and Voldemort's tall, skeletal body was hardly his original one. Not to mention that Harry himself was no longer the midget he had used to be.

"Listen to me," Harry said flatly, bringing his wand to Riddle's pale throat and pushing. "I'll do as McGonagall wants and will say nothing about you to anyone, but if you're up to something - or I _think _you're up to something - I'll kill you. Simple as that."

They looked into each other's eyes in silence, Riddle's gaze coldly calculating, Harry's, deadly serious.

Finally, Riddle inclined his head slightly. "I believe you. I believe that you will _try_."

Harry pushed the wand harder into Riddle's skin, acutely aware that Riddle couldn't retaliate because he was underage. But instead of making him ashamed, the knowledge made him feel _good_, almost drunk with power. He could do anything to him. "There will be no _trying_, Riddle," he said. "I survived all encounters with you when I was a child, and I killed a more experienced and knowledgeable version of you with a bloody _Expelliarmus_. Don't you think I'm quite capable of killing a teenager?"

If he wasn't looking into Riddle's eyes, he would have missed it when they flashed with rage. "And yet I'm here, Harry Potter." He leaned closer and whispered almost against Harry's face, "I guess you weren't good enough. You _failed_, Harry. So many died because you weren't good enough, fast enough-"

Harry grabbed him by his throat and snarled, "You remember everything, aren't you? I knew it! I knew you fooled McGonagall that you have no memories. Answer me, damn it!"

The bastard smiled. "Aw, Harry. So naive. Are you really so stupid to think that I would admit it? Even if it were true?" And Riddle had the nerve to pat his cheek, as though Harry was a cute but very dumb kitten.

Harry shoved him away in disgust. "Remember, I'll be watching you. One wrong move, and you're dead." Recalling McGonagall's earlier words, he smiled coldly. "I'm the bloody Saviour, after all. I can do no wrong, and the death of some orphan of dubious origins can be easily explained and dismissed."

A strangest expression crossed Riddle's face. He looked almost intrigued. "Interesting. You have potential, Harry Potter."

Harry's stomach churned. He couldn't help but remember the Diary Riddle's words. "I'm not like you. We're nothing alike."

Riddle cocked his head, regarding him with an inscrutable expression. "Did I say that you were, Harry?"

"Stop calling me that," Harry said, his face heating up. The way Riddle said his name... there was something about it that made him uneasy.

Riddle smirked. "Why ever not? Is it not your name? Harry."

Scowling, Harry strode away before he could give in to the urge to kill him.

_It can't be happening. It can't be happening to me_, he kept thinking angrily as he walked briskly towards the boundaries of Hogwarts' wards to apparate away.

He needed a plan.

First things first, he had to find Hermione and Ron and tell them everything. Together, they would figure it out, or at least decide what to do.

Decision made, Harry apparated to the Burrow.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself - it wouldn't do to destroy yet another room - before entering the house.

The house was quiet, as it had always been ever since Fred had died and George moved out. As usual, the silence unnerved him, making him walk quieter.

Harry reached Ron's room and was about to open the door when he heard his own name.

He went still.

"...about Harry. Ron, I'm worried." Despite being muffled by the door, he could clearly hear that Hermione's voice was trembling.

"Come on, love, don't be ridiculous! It's Harry. Just Harry."

"I know, but- Haven't you noticed anything, Ron? The way he behaves sometimes? The look in his eyes when he gets angry? It scares me. We had an argument the other day and he threw a vase at my head!"

"Come on, Hermione, it was an accident! Just his magic acting up, is all. He didn't mean it."

"Exactly, Ron. Harry would never hurt me intentionally! Haven't you noticed that he can barely control his magic these days?"

"Well, yeah. I think. And he's more moody than usual. But aren't we all?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, Ron. I tried talking to him, to make him open up, but he... You know how he is: he says that he's fine and walks away. I feel like he's not telling us the whole truth. Something's going on with him. Something bad."

"What do you mean?"

"I know it may sound crazy...but I think he's not coping well with Voldemort's death."

Ron laughed. Harry wanted to join him. Was Hermione _mad_?

"It's not that funny, Ronald. Just think about it: so far, Harry's entire life revolved around Voldemort- hell, he had his _soul _in him practically his entire life! Now he's gone, and Harry's depressed because he's left without purpose in his life."

_What a load of bullshit_, Harry thought angrily. He wasn't depressed. And he sure as hell didn't miss Voldemort.

"I guess it makes sense," Ron said thoughtfully. "In a twisted sort of way."

Harry couldn't believe them.

"But what can we do about it, Hermione?"

She sighed heavily. "I don't know. I don't know how to help him when he doesn't want help. But one thing I'm sure about is that we shouldn't tell him about our plans yet. Not now. If he finds out that we want to live together after Hogwarts, without him, he'll feel betrayed. It's better to wait until he's less depressed and angry."

"Yeah, I think you're right, love. He won't understand." There was the sound of kissing.

Harry turned around and walked away.

Ginny. He needed Ginny.

* * *

"What did McGonagall want?" Ginny asked breathlessly between his kisses.

"Nothing," Harry murmured, sliding his hand under her shirt and closing his palm around her full breast. He squeezed. "'Want you. Let's go to your room."

"Harry!" Ginny said, flushing and pushing him away. "Come on, we talked about it. You know I want to wait until marriage."

"Fine," Harry snapped and stormed out of the room.

He leaned against the wall outside the Burrow and closed his eyes.

Fuck.

What was happening to him?

He knew he was acting like a git. He knew he should respect Ginny's wishes, and most of the time, he really did. It was just... Yes, Harry was eighteen, and his body had needs, but it wasn't even that. He needed- an outlet. Lately it felt like a good orgasm was the only way to deal with his temper, the only way to somewhat control his violent magic. His magic thrummed under his skin, wanting out, wanting to be used, just _wanting_, and the more pissed off he got, the harder it was to push it back under his skin. After his earlier encounter with Riddle, after Hermione and Ron's lies, it was particularly difficult, nearly impossible. And a part of him... A part of him didn't want to put his magic away, loving the rush he got, the sense of...power.

And it scared him.

Hermione was right about one thing: he'd been Voldemort's horcrux almost his entire life.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if Voldemort's soul had tainted him irrevocably.

* * *

-#-

September the 1st was a rainy, cloudy day.

It suited Harry's mood perfectly.

He spent the entire train ride avoiding Ginny and arguing with Ron and Hermione. Ginny was upset that he hadn't told her about Riddle and that she'd had to find out from McGonagall. Hermione was angry with him for holing up at Grimmauld Place for days and ignoring her owls, and Ron was angry because Hermione was angry. Nothing surprising there: ever since they got together, Ron always sided with her.

Even before overhearing their conversation, sometimes (all right, more often than sometimes) Harry felt like Hermione and Ron had moved on with their lives, leaving him behind. He knew he should be happy for his friends, and he was. Sort of. It was just… It was hard to deal with the fact that they had stopped being Harry, Ron, and Hermione and became Harry and RonandHermione. He always thought of them as family, his real family, but lately, it was glaringly obvious that they didn't think the same. Now, Hermione and Ron had their own secrets and inside jokes he didn't understand, and more and more often, he felt like the third wheel, like an outsider, looking into a life that was never his own. Soon enough, he would be literally an outsider when Ron and Hermione moved in together.

Yes, it was petty of him not to tell them about Riddle; he didn't care if it was petty. They discussed him behind his back and had secrets from him; Harry had the right to have one bloody secret from them.

Besides, Hermione's words that he didn't talk to them weren't true. He didn't exactly have the opportunity to do so when they were so caught up in each other. How many times had Ron dragged Hermione upstairs with a shout, _Not now, mate, _leaving Harry standing in the Weasleys' living room, the silence only occasionally broken by Molly's muffled sobs coming from the kitchen that everyone pretended not to hear? Too many.

They won the war; that was the important thing, right?

Right?

"Hi, Harry," said Luna, interrupting his musings, her voice as dreamy as usual as she clutched a giant book to her chest. "Are you excited to return to Hogwarts, too?"

Her book was upside down. Harry couldn't help but smile at her. He guessed some things never changed, no matter the war. It was a comforting thought. "Hi, Luna. Yeah, I'm pretty excited."

"You're lying," Luna said with a serene smile. "But I don't mind."

* * *

-#-

Luna had been right. He really wasn't excited to be returning to Hogwarts. Harry's prevailing emotion was one of trepidation, followed by anger and frustration.

The fact that everyone was gawking at him, pointing and _whispering _wasn't improving his mood any.

It only got worse when he got to the Great Hall. Harry scowled, sticking close to Neville, and sat down next to him.

He looked around the Hall, trying and failing to ignore the empty seats and missing students.

"Are you looking for someone, mate?" Neville asked, and Harry shifted his eyes back to him.

"No," he said curtly.

He managed to concentrate on McGonagall's welcoming speech for all of two seconds before returning to scanning the crowd. It wasn't like he hadn't heard a variation of her speech dozens of times this summer at various Ministry events he was forced to attend. He didn't want to hear again about all the losses, his supposed heroism and how the Wizarding World was eternally indebted to him and proud.

He could feel _him_ – his magic – in the room but couldn't see him anywhere.

"... a transfer student this year."

Harry's gaze snapped back to McGonagall, then to the tall boy standing by the sorting hat.

"Please welcome Mr. Vergne to Hogwarts," McGonagall said primly. "He will join sixth-year students after the sorting. Filius, if you wouldn't mind?"

Professor Flitwick nodded eagerly and handed the Sorting Hat to Riddle. Harry watched as Riddle sat on the stool and placed the hat on his ebony locks. It didn't surprise him in the least when the Hat shouted "Slytherin!" immediately.

Harry followed Riddle with his eyes as the boy walked to the Slytherin table.

"My, he's so dreamy," Lavender said from Harry's right. "And he looks older than sixteen."

Parvati giggled and whispered something in her ear.

Harry looked to where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sitting. Ginny looked very pale and anxious. Hermione and Ron were discussing something heatedly (_Probably me_, Harry thought darkly) and didn't seem to be paying Riddle any attention; it didn't look like Ginny had told them.

Harry looked back to Riddle. The other boy was talking pleasantly with his new housemates, a reserved but confident smirk on his lips. Slytherins were watching their new housemate with interest – but with no more interest than any new student would normally receive.

They had no idea. They had no idea who was sitting among them.

After watching them for a while, Harry had to concede that Riddle was a natural leader. Even though he didn't seem to be trying at all, he had the confident, superior air about him that seemed to affect everyone. Before Riddle joined the table, other Slytherins had been subdued and anxious—nothing surprising there, considering that most of their parents were either dead or in Azkaban—but with Riddle's presence, Slytherins seemed to be reverting to their old selves right in front of Harry's eyes: heads lifting, shoulders squaring, expressions turning confident and arrogant.

By the end of the hour, Riddle had every Slytherin around him hanging on his every word.

It made Harry anxious.

He couldn't help but think that Voldemort could have been truly great. If he had been saner, if he were _smarter_, he could have become anything, even the Minister of Magic.

The thought made him shudder.

"I would like to make a few announcements," McGonagall said as the feast neared the end, making Harry to tear his gaze from the Slytherin table.

The Great Hall hushed as the students turned to look at their Headmistress.

"As you couldn't possibly fail to notice, we have a large group of returning seventh years who, for various reasons, either did not attend Hogwarts last year or did not get satisfactory NEWTs due to...poor quality of education received here." McGonagall looked almost pained as she admitted it. "The Ministry of Magic and the Hogwarts Board of Governors have decided to make a special exception for those students and they were allowed to retake their final year. However, most of the seventh years' rooms could not accommodate the extra students, and we were unable to persuade the castle that we needed additional rooms for 'eighth years,' as it is highly irregular. The magic of House dormitories is as old as the Sorting Hat and can be...stubborn and unpredictable." She looked slightly pained again. "As you are probably aware, the castle's repairs were finished only a few days ago, so we had neither the time nor resources to create a new, separate dormitory."

Harry frowned.

"Therefore," McGonagall continued. "We had no choice but place all returning students in the only House that had extra rooms."

Harry looked at the Slytherin table, which had more empty seats than the other tables put together. Did she really...?

She did.

"Due to various reasons, twenty-one Slytherins did not return to continue their education at Hogwarts." Her lips pursed, her face grim. "Therefore, the 'eighth years' would be placed within Slytherin House."

"No," McGonagall said when some of the eighth years started protesting loudly. "It doesn't mean your Houses have been changed to Slytherin. The arrangement concerns only your dormitories. You may choose to sit at the Slytherin table, but it is not required, and any earned points would still go to your respective Houses. The Slytherin prefects would show you the way after the feast." She sat down.

A murmur ran among students. Non-Slytherin eighth years didn't look happy. Most of Slytherins looked pissed off.

"Oh great, mate," Neville said with a groan. "They're throwing us into the snakes' den."

Harry looked back to the Slytherin table and shrugged.

It definitely made keeping an eye on Riddle easier.

* * *

-#-

"The password is 'Scorpio,'" said the seventh-year Slytherin prefect. Harry thought her name was Amanda, but he wasn't sure. She certainly hadn't even attempted to introduce herself and made it clear that they were unwanted in Slytherin House.

The stone door concealed in the wall slid open and they—all twenty-seven of them—followed her inside.

The common room looked exactly like Harry remembered it from his second year: a huge, low room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace, making the room surprisingly comfortable and warm despite the dark furniture. Green and silver curtains draped the underwater windows.

It all looked expensive and elegant. And yeah, there were snakes everywhere.

The common room was mostly deserted but for the first years, who were receiving a welcoming speech from Slughorn.

"Girls will follow me," Amanda said coldly and disappeared into one of the many dark corridors. Hermione glanced back at Ron and Harry before following the other girls.

The male prefect, who had been silent up until this point, turned to them. He was a handsome bloke, tall and solidly built, with brown hair and a smiling mouth that looked at odds with the hardness of his cobalt blue eyes.

"My name is Sebastian Rosier. I'm a Senior Slytherin prefect. You will follow my instructions. I don't care if some of you fancy yourselves as heroes and think you are above the 'filthy house of snakes.' Most of you aren't Slytherins, so let's make it perfectly clear for once and all: while you're in Slytherin territory, you adhere by our rules. The rules are as follows: you won't bother Slytherins and you will keep to your rooms and avoid the common room as much as possible. And if you tell our password to anyone, you will wish the Dark Lord was alive. Any questions?" He smiled at them pleasantly, flashing white teeth.

Harry and Neville looked at each other.

"Good. Follow me, then," Sebastian said, heading to one of the dark corridors.

They followed.

"Why is it so bloody dark here?" Seamus complained, stumbling once again. "Lumos!" The corridor remained dark. "What the hell?"

"It's just a clever illusion. The charm was created by Salazar Slytherin himself," Rosier replied. "He didn't want non-Slytherins sneaking around his house. To all Slytherins, the corridors look perfectly lit."

"Bloody great," Ron grumbled. "And how are we supposed to find our rooms without breaking our necks?"

"You'll manage," Rosier said with laughter in his voice. "McGonagall put you all nearby the common room, so finding your rooms won't be hard once you remember the location. Besides, there are a few Slytherins among you; they can help you...if they choose. Other years' rooms are located deeper into the dungeons. Stay away from them, or else you might get _accidentally_ lost." He sounded more amused than threatening.

Rosier opened a door. "Boot, Goldstein, Corner, Cornfoot. Your room." The Ravenclaws went in, and Rosier resumed walking. About twenty feet later, he stopped again and opened another door. "Smith, Finch-Fletchley, Macmillan, Longbottom."

Rosier walked down the corridor and opened yet another door.

"Zabini, Goyle, Nott, Finnigan."

"That can't be right," Malfoy said tersely. "I should be roomed with the other Slytherins!"

"Yeah, let's trade, Malfoy," Seamus said quickly.

"No one will trade anything," Rosier said, his voice losing all trace of amusement. Now it sounded dark and malicious. "The matter isn't up for discussion. Blood traitors don't belong with Slytherins, Malfoy."

"I'm not a blood traitor!" Malfoy's voice was shaking with rage.

"Tell that to your mummy," Rosier said with a sneer in his voice. "As far as we're concerned, you aren't a Slytherin anymore."

"You—you fucking— I'll—"

"What? What will you do, Princess? Daddy isn't there anymore to help you. Daddy is too busy being under a house arrest, isn't he? How the mighty have fallen."

"That's enough, Rosier," Harry said, his voice hard. "Or should I tell McGonagall that her Senior Slytherin prefect is a bully?"

"Saved by your Hero again, Malfoy?"

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "I don't need your help!"

"You never do, you ungrateful prat," Ron muttered.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Seamus said and stomped into the room, following the Slytherins in. Harry grimaced. He didn't envy him.

Rosier stepped to the opposite wall and opened another door. "Malfoy, Potter, Weasley and Thomas. Your room. That's it. If you have any problems...well, figure it on your own. Don't come to me unless someone's dying."

"Charming fellow," Dean said when Rosier shut the door behind him.

"How dare he to talk to me like that!" Malfoy hissed out, red in the face. "I'm a Malfoy, I'm older than him, and I should have been the Senior Prefect, not him! Rosier was a nobody when I was Slytherin King!"

"Calm down, Malfoy," Harry said, looking around the room with interest.

It was...nice. The four-poster beds had dark green curtains and covers, and a thick carpet of the same colour covered the floor. The walls were painted a light grey and had beautiful paintings of what he guessed was the Forbidden Forest. A single window took almost the entire wall, a thick glass separating them from the Black Lake.

The green light from the window fell in rippling waves on them.

"Wow," Ron said.

"My thoughts exactly, mate," Dean said, whistling.

Malfoy scoffed. "My old room was miles better." He looked around. "But I suppose it's not that bad. There are no bad accommodations in Slytherin House. We have standards, after all."

Harry thought of another Slytherin, who had to be somewhere nearby.

His stomach clenched.

* * *

-#-

The advantage of living in the same House as Riddle didn't turn out to be such a big advantage as Harry had initially thought.

For one thing, he'd barely seen Riddle in Slytherin dungeons. Nothing surprising there, considering that non-Slytherin eighth years weren't welcomed in the common room—to put it lightly—and Harry had no idea where Riddle's room was. He'd tried to follow him a few times under his cloak but quickly lost him in the dark corridors, and the Map was completely useless, since the Marauders hadn't put Slytherin dormitories on the map. Yes, he could perfectly see Riddle's dot somewhere in the middle of the territory marked by the Marauders as Slytherin dorm, but actually finding him in a maze of dark corridors was bloody impossible. Stupid Salazar Slytherin and his stupid charm.

By the end of the week, Harry was more than a little frustrated.

And the worst thing was, he didn't even have anyone to talk to. Ginny was the only one who knew, but she disliked talking about Riddle, preferring to pretend that he didn't exist.

"...arry! Harry! Stop staring at him," Ginny hissed out.

Harry looked away from the Slytherin table. "I'm not staring, Ginny. I'm keeping an eye on him. Someone has to. Constant vigilance, remember?"

She pursed her lips. "You have a problem, Harry. It's called paranoia."

Harry laughed harshly. "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry for being paranoid about the bloke who killed my family, a bunch of my friends and terrorized the wizarding world for decades. How stupid of me, Gin, huh?"

"Don't take this tone with me, Harry Potter," Ginny said, flushing with anger. Her voice cracked as she continued, "You're not the only one who lost someone in the war."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. She was right. Of course she was right.

Ginny sighed. "Harry, I know better than anyone how you feel, but you do realize that he's not the same person, right? I'm not saying that he's an angel or anything." She snorted. "Actually, I don't doubt that he's probably planning world domination all over again, but right now, he's just a teenager! He's even younger than us. There isn't much that he can do. His old Slytherin gang is dead. His basilisk is dead. Who of the remaining Death Eaters would follow a cute sixteen-year-old boy?"

"Cute? Bloody hell, he's not _cute_, Ginny!" Harry scowled. "Kittens and crups are cute. Riddle is..." Not entirely out of his will, his gaze returned to the Slytherin table. "He's evil," he finished.

"I don't understand you, Harry!" Ginny said angrily. "Why don't you take the chance to _live_? I don't know about you, but I'm bloody tired of war, of constant paranoia and... thinking about the dead. I want to be carefree, want to finish school, and think of the future. Is this too much to ask?"

Harry nursed his pumpkin juice, wishing for something stronger. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but I can't. I can't, not with him here. I don't trust him. I _know _he's up to no good."

She sighed heavily.

"I was right about Malfoy, wasn't I?" Harry said into his juice.

"Yeah, you were," Ginny conceded and finally changed the subject. "So what is it like to live in Slytherin House? Ron said you share a room with Malfoy."

Harry shrugged. "He's not as bad as he used to be." He chuckled. "Well, he's still annoying, arrogant and spoiled, but I'm not the main object of his insults, so I don't mind him that much, I guess."

Ginny looked at him curiously. "Really? Then who is?"

"Rosier." Harry motioned with his head towards Sebastian, who was sitting at the head of the Slytherin table. His eyes drifted to Riddle, who was seated to Rosier's right, looking cold, confident and untouchable.

Despite Rosier being the leader of Slytherin and Riddle being a newbie, it was obvious how much Slytherins already deferred to Riddle, their faces full of respect, admiration and fascination when they looked at him. Riddle was the only sixth year seated at the head of the table with the seventh years, and Nott was the only eighth year. Zabini and Goyle usually kept to themselves; as far as Harry could tell, they weren't shunned, but neither were they respected. And Malfoy... Malfoy sat at the other end of the table with first years. Harry would have felt sorry for him if Malfoy still wasn't the same arrogant, spiteful little bastard.

"Rosier?" Ginny repeated, looking at the prefect as he stood up.

Harry nodded. "Not that I blame Malfoy. Rosier is a prick to him. I don't know what his problem is, really. Normally, he's on okay bloke – for a Slytherin. Got a decent sense of humour. But when it comes to Malfoy, he acts like a git."

"Hmm, makes sense. Malfoy used to snub him, treat him like dirt under his feet. The Rosiers are an old pureblood family, but they're poor." She scoffed. "And well, you know Malfoy. He used to treat him even worse than Ron and me. But in his fifth year, Rosier started gaining some power in Slytherin – and Malfoy was too distracted by Voldemort's task to do anything about it. And, little by little, Rosier took away almost all power from him, though Malfoy still wasn't as shunned as he is now." Ginny snorted. "Can't say I feel sorry for Malfoy. It's nothing he didn't deserve. It's ironic that now Slytherins call him a blood traitor – the same thing he called us. And no wonder, after you testified on his behalf that he refused to identify you at Malfoy Manor. Good thing he's finally gotten over his silly crush on you or he would've—"

Harry choked on his juice and started coughing. "What?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry, don't tell me you didn't know. It was obvious he had a giant crush on you since you were twelve."

Running a hand throw his hair, Harry shook his head. "I had no idea. That's just...too weird, Gin."

She frowned. "I never thought you were a homophobe. Charlie's gay too. There's nothing wrong with liking blokes!"

"I'm not a homophobe!" Harry shouted—too loudly.

All conversations stopped. Heads turned his way. Harry flushed.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting other people's meal, Potter," Rosier's voice announced from behind him.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry turned around. Riddle and a few other Slytherins stood next to Sebastian, probably on their way to the exit.

"Go bother someone else, Rosier," Harry said, eyes on Riddle.

"Another ten for being rude to a prefect," Rosier drawled lazily before heading to the door.

"Never took you for a mindless minion," Harry said when Riddle turned to follow the other Slytherins.

Riddle stopped. He studied Harry strangely. "Do we know each other?" he said innocently before his gaze shifted to Ginny.

Harry felt Ginny stiffen beside him, her whole body radiating tension. She grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed it. Her hand was clammy.

"Ginevra Weasley, I presume," Riddle said, glancing at their clasped hands. "Charmed." His tone was anything but.

Ginny was pale. "Go away."

Riddle shook his head. "Tut, tut. How rude, Ginevra. But very well."

With a last look at Harry, he walked away towards his 'friends.'

"Merlin," Ginny whispered, squeezing Harry's hand. "He looks exactly like..."

"I know," Harry said curtly.

Ginny cleared her throat.

"Rosier took points from you for nothing. Do Slytherins bother you often? What is it like to live with them?" Her voice sounded forced.

"Like living with venomous snakes that are itching to bite you."

"That bad?" she said sympathetically.

"You have no idea. They hate us, Gin." Harry chuckled. "Me especially."

"Well, it's...kind of understandable."

"I didn't put their relatives in Azkaban nor did I kill them."

Ginny made a face. "Yes, but you did kill their leader, winning the war for the Light. That's enough for them."

Harry snorted. "They have their precious Dark Lord among them. They just don't know it yet."

Ginny let out an irritated sigh. "I changed the subject because I'm tired of talking about Riddle! Can't you get a clue?" Huffing, she stormed away.

Harry swore under his breath.

* * *

-#-

"Tom Vergne is such a sweetheart, isn't he?"

Harry lifted his eyes from his essay and looked at the sixth-year Gryffindor girls sitting at the desk by the window. He didn't know them well, but he thought their names were Emma and Megan. The girls weren't speaking loud, but the library was so quiet that their voices reached him easily.

"Yeah, for a Slytherin, he's an angel," said Megan with a soft smile. "He helped me with my Ancient Runes homework and adamantly refused any payment. And you know he can't really afford refusing money. He's an orphan, after all."

Emma sighed. "Poor thing. I can't imagine how awful it must be to be completely alone in the world. It's obvious that speaking of his parents' death still hurts him a lot."

For the next five minutes, Harry listened in disbelief as they discussed the _tragic _life of Saint Tom before he'd finally had enough and left the library. Merlin, he was so sick of it.

Using the Map, he located Riddle and caught up with him on his way to the dungeons.

"A word," he growled, grabbing Riddle's arm and forcing him to stop. It was sickening how other Slytherins stiffened and stopped as well, looking at Riddle for instructions, like loyal dogs. Poor Rosier. He didn't stand a chance. Riddle already had them all wrapped around his finger; they just didn't know it yet.

"I beg your pardon," Riddle said, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

"I said I want a word," Harry gritted out and practically dragged him to the nearest empty classroom and slammed the door shut.

Riddle glanced down at Harry's hand around his bicep. He raised an eyebrow. "Handsy much, darling?"

Harry's face heated up. "Don't call me that."

Riddle smiled. "As you wish, _Harry_."

Harry shoved him against the wall and pinned him there with his arms on either side of his head. "Don't play this game with me, Riddle," he hissed into the other boy's face, heart pounding with adrenaline. "You might've fooled everyone else with your pretty face, sweet words, and tragic past, but not me. I know you. So stop fucking playing. I'm sick of it."

Riddle leaned to his ear. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Harry shivered and jerked back a little.

He stared at Riddle, breathing hard. Merlin, how he wanted to land a good punch on that face. "How did you do it?" he said with frustration.

Riddle lifted an eyebrow again. "Pardon?"

"How did you do it?" Harry gestured to Riddle's sixteen-year-old body. "It should be fucking impossible. You should be dead! I saw you die."

"How would I know?" Riddle said, giving him such a charming, innocent smile that Harry almost forgot that it was just a mask. Almost. "I'm just a teenager, remember? Surely you don't hold me responsible for the crimes I didn't commit?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I'm not so sure about it, Riddle. I find it hard to believe that Voldemort would see any advantage in being a sixteen-year-old without all his previous knowledge and memories. He was crazy, but he wasn't an idiot."

Riddle leaned in. "I'm flattered, _darling_," he said, his breath brushing Harry's cheek. "But I'd have to disappoint you. Now, if you're quite done manhandling me and generally wasting my time, I have a class to attend."

Harry, only now realizing that he still had Riddle pressed against the wall, stepped back quickly.

Riddle smoothed down his robes and looked back at him. The sweet, charming mask was gone. Now, Riddle's eyes held so much malice and cruelty that Harry nearly flinched. "And if you dare to publicly manhandle me again, you will _wish _I Crucio'd you." And he left.

Harry punched the wall in frustration.

The window behind him shattered with a loud, startling noise.


	2. Slug Club

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Much appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

On some level, he knew it probably wasn't very healthy of him.

Some would probably even say he was acting like a stalker.

Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

Besides, if he was stalking, then Riddle was stalking him, too.

Sure, Riddle was much more discreet about it than him, but Harry had still caught him a few times watching him with an odd, speculative expression on his face. And, frankly, it unnerved him a little.

"He's looking at me again."

Ginny huffed. "Honestly, Harry. He isn't looking at you at all! You're just imagining it."

"I'm not crazy!" Harry snapped and Ginny's glass exploded, covering her in pumpkin juice and shards of glass.

"Shit—Merlin, Ginny, I'm sorry—"

"I'm okay," she said with a wary look at him. "I'm okay, don't worry. It's nothing."

It wasn't nothing, but Harry didn't argue and pulled out his wand. "_Tergeo_!"

She sucked a breath in, discomfort crossing her features. Confused, Harry looked at her neck and his eyes widened when he saw that her skin looked red and raw as if sandpaper had been forcefully rubbed over it. Christ.

Harry grimaced. "Sorry. Looks like I misjudged the strength of my spell."

Ginny pursed her lips and glanced towards Hermione and Ron. "Harry," she said hesitantly. "Maybe you should—"

"No. Leave it, Ginny. I'm fine." Avoiding her eyes, he looked away - at the Slytherin table.

Riddle was watching him again.

And he didn't avert his eyes this time. Instead, he tilted his head, seeming almost intrigued as he looked at Harry - no, not at _Harry _precisely_. _It was like he was watching something that Harry couldn't see. Riddle frowned slightly, but the blond boy seated next to him said something and he looked away.

"But Harry," Ginny started again.

Inwardly cringing at what he was about to do, Harry turned to her. Taking her hand into his, he looked her into the eyes. Hermione had told him once that she couldn't deny him anything when he gave her 'that puppy look.' Harry wasn't sure what she meant, but now he tried his best. "Ginny, you love me, right?"

Her expression softened. "You know I do, Harry."

"If you love me, you're supposed to be on my side. Not Ron's, not Hermione's—mine. And I'm asking you not to tell Ron and Hermione about this. If you love me, you will do this for me."

For a few moments, she looked mutinous but finally nodded with a smile. "All right."

Kissing her cheek, Harry told himself it wasn't manipulation.

* * *

-#-

"I don't understand what Slughorn has been thinking," Ginny hissed furiously, glancing towards Riddle, who had just entered the room with a few other Slytherins.

"Me neither," Harry said, sipping his drink.

"Well, let's just ignore him," Ginny said with forced cheerfulness. She glanced around the crowded room and her face brightened. "Oh! Is that Amanda Lampard from the Holyhead Harpies?" She tugged Harry's arm. "I want to talk to her."

"I don't," Harry said without interest. "You go. I'll be here."

She frowned at him but left.

Harry sighed and looked around, wondering what he was even doing here. Attending meaningless social gatherings like the Slug Club wasn't, exactly, one of his favourite things. He was already regretting that he had given in to Ginny's nagging.

Harry glanced towards Riddle but quickly looked away. He felt too tired and irritated to deal with him right now. He'd barely slept in the last few days and would have been dead on his feet if his magic hadn't been keeping him alert-_too_ alert, ready to lash out at any moment.

"You're avoiding me, Harry."

He nearly groaned. Great. Just what he needed.

Harry took a sip from his drink. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Hermione."

She glowered at him, putting her hands on her hips. "You know perfectly well what I mean, Harry Potter! Of course you're avoiding me if I had to come to Professor Slughorn's party to talk to you!"

"I'm not avoiding you," Harry lied with a straight face. It was easy. Disturbingly easy.

The truth was, he had been avoiding her. He didn't want Hermione to notice how much his problem had escalated. Hiding it from Ron was hard enough, since his self-control was becoming worse with every passing day. It worried him, yes, but he still didn't want Hermione and Ron to know—didn't want anyone to know.

Maybe the smart thing to do was to tell someone and get help, but even thinking of all the attention he'd get made him feel tired and worn out. It was probably just stress, nothing serious.

"—arry!"

Startled, he looked at Hermione. He'd completely forgotten that she stood next to him. He had to concentrate really hard to remember what they were talking about, and even then, the memory was hazy. It was like there was a fog in his head that refused to clear.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. The lack of sleep seemed to be catching up with him. "Look, Hermione—"

A hand landed on his shoulder. "Harry, my boy—"

"Professor!" he said with a relieved smile. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

Slughorn smiled widely, his face red with delight and led him away from Hermione. "Of course, of course. What do you want to talk about, my boy?"

Harry tried to think of anything to say before realizing he actually had something to ask. He glanced around. "Can we talk in private, professor?"

For a moment, the smile slipped from Slughorn's face before it reappeared again. "Of course, Harry," he said. "We can go to my study. I'm sure my guests can entertain themselves for a few minutes."

With a last glance at Riddle, Harry followed him into the adjoined room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he quickly erected a privacy ward.

Slughorn raised his eyebrows. "Surely, that's unnecessary-"

"What is he doing here, professor? Why did you invite a younger version of Voldemort to your party?"

Slughorn froze before lifting his hands in a placating manner. "My boy, if I didn't invite him, it would have looked strange. He's a brilliant student - the very best, in fact."

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, except Slughorn wouldn't quite meet his eyes.

Harry gave him a piercing look. "You and I are one of the few people who know what he is: a monster behind the façade of a model student. You shouldn't have let him mingle with influential people and your most promising students. He'll use them for his own purposes. You're practically enabling him, professor."

Slughorn's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Harry—I… You don't understand—"

Harry snorted. "Yes, I don't. Don't tell me you think he can change."

Slughorn said nothing and Harry looked at him in disbelief. "Professor!"

The man sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping.

He was silent for a while.

"Tom Riddle used to be my very favourite student, Harry," he said finally, voice thick with emotion. "From the first day, I knew he would become someone special. It was obvious the boy had a great destiny ahead of him." The old man chuckled, bitterly. "I thought he would become the Minister of Magic or the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot—or a famous Potion Master, or maybe even a Spell Creator. He could have become any of those things." His eyes looked haunted. "If I didn't tell him about horcruxes, he wouldn't have become that…creature."

"He already knew about-"

"Yes, he had already known, but it was me who confirmed to him that it was possible to create multiple horcruxes. I should have said it was impossible! Then he would have stayed relatively sane and none of those terrible things would have happened."

Harry shook his head. "He'd still be a power-hungry, cruel bastard with too much ambition for his own good."

Sighing, Slughorn ran a hand over his face. "Perhaps, but I'm positive that had he not created so many horcruxes, he would have gone about achieving his goals with much less bloodshed. I knew him very well, Harry. We talked quite often. Yes, he'd always been ruthless and he always detested muggles, but what Tom ultimately craved was power, not a mindless massacre."

"You just feel guilty. And that's your guilt talking."

"Guilty?" Slughorn let out a harsh chuckle. "Of course I do. I lived with this guilt for half a century." He looked Harry into the eyes. "You _must _understand_, _Harry! This is my chance. A chance to redo it—to give Tom a different destiny." His face was full of such desperate hope that Harry had to look away, uncomfortable.

How often had he wanted the same thing: a chance to undo his mistakes and fix everything?

Without a word, Harry turned around and left. He couldn't even be angry with Slughorn. He was just a delusional old man who wanted to save someone who couldn't be saved.

Or could he?

"Are you two quite done gossiping about me?"

Startled, Harry looked up and found Riddle leaning casually against the wall just outside Slughorn's study, a drink in his hand.

"Eavesdropping, Tom?"

Riddle's bored expression didn't change. "I wasn't eavesdropping, pet. I couldn't – without alerting you. Quite a powerful privacy ward you erected there."

Taking a sip from his own drink, Harry leaned against the wall next to him. "What do you want?" he said, shifting his gaze to other students. He couldn't see Hermione and Ron anywhere; they had probably left. A few Slytherins - Rosier and Selwyn - were glancing towards them occasionally, probably wondering what their housemate was doing talking to Harry Potter.

"Why would I necessarily want anything?"

Harry's lips twisted. "You're talking to me. Voluntarily. You want something."

"You know me so well," Riddle drawled with a smirk. "You are correct. I wouldn't waste my time talking to you without a good reason."

"And that reason is?" Harry asked, plastering a fake, toothy smile on his face for the sake of Slughorn, who finally emerged out of the study. The old man looked startled upon seeing them together but didn't approach them.

Giving Slughorn a polite smile, Riddle took a sip from his drink. "I have been watching you."

"I've noticed," Harry said dryly, but Riddle's next words made him freeze.

"Your magical core is very unstable."

Harry hesitated, torn between curiosity and distrust.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said at last. "But even if I did, why would I talk about it to you, of all people?"

"Because if I'm right - and I always am - you have a very serious problem that needs immediate attention. Or else, the consequences won't pretty for you."

Harry chuckled, trying to ignore the doubt rising in him. He had no reason to trust Riddle's words; quite the opposite. "Am I supposed to believe that you want to help me? Out of the goodness of your heart?"

Riddle's lips curled in disgust. "Out of the goodness of my heart? Certainly not."

Harry snorted. "At least you aren't denying it."

Riddle gave him a look. "Why would I deny not being a pathetic idiot?" His gaze shifted towards the crowd. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Your little girlfriend looks a bit sick. Is she well?"

Harry followed his gaze to Ginny, who seemed to be frozen in place, looking deathly pale.

Frowning, Harry made his way towards her.

"Hey," he said, taking in her wide-eyed expression. "What's wrong, Ginny?"

She swallowed visibly and shook her head with a small laugh. "Never mind. I saw you talking to him, and for a moment, I was creeped out by how alike you looked: your height, dark hair, pale skin, even the identical sneers on your faces." She chuckled again. "Never mind. It was silly of me."

"Yes," Harry said, looking back to Riddle, who still stood where he had left him. Riddle saluted him with his drink, his dark eyes inscrutable. "Silly."

* * *

-#-

"Merlin, that was precious!" Malfoy said gleefully as they all entered their dorm. "Did you see Rosier's face when Vergne took the seat at the head of the Slytherin table?"

Ron snorted. "Shouldn't you be insulted that a sixth year, and a newbie to boot, is the new Slytherin King?"

"Anyone's better than that git!"

Flopping down on his bed, Harry closed his eyes. He had a giant headache and wasn't in the mood to listen to Malfoy's ranting. Though, truth be told, lately, he wasn't in the mood for anything, feeling too worked up and irritated to give a crap about anyone. Well, anyone other than Riddle and Ginny.

He couldn't help but wonder if Riddle had told him the truth and there really was something wrong with him. It couldn't be normal to be so worked up all the time; Harry could practically feel the testosterone flowing through his veins - or maybe it was magic.

Or maybe Hermione was right and he needed a shrink.

Harry forced himself to concentrate on his roommates' conversation.

"It's not like Rosier became a pariah or anything," Ron was saying. "He was sitting to Vergne's right, so he's, like, his right hand or something?"

"I suppose so," Malfoy grumbled.

"I don't get it," Dean said thoughtfully. "How can a new bloke become Slytherins' unofficial leader just in two weeks?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't really associate with other Slytherins that much." His voice was very nonchalant and uncaring. Too uncaring.

Harry winced. Going from the top of the Slytherin food chain to the bottom couldn't possibly be easy for someone as proud as Malfoy.

"But Blaise told me what happened in the common room yesterday," Malfoy said. "Apparently, Vergne took the chair-"

"The chair?" Ron interrupted.

"Yes, the big one by the fireplace; traditionally, only the Slytherin leader takes it. Rumour has it, the Dark Lord himself used to sit in that chair when he was a student here." Malfoy paused, his expression uncomfortable, as if he wasn't sure whether Voldemort was an appropriate topic of conversation, considering that he was talking to Gryffindors who fought against him.

_The Dark Lord_. Harry wondered why Malfoy was still referring to Voldemort so respectfully. For one thing, Voldemort didn't deserve to be called Lord; for another, Harry had never gotten the impression that Malfoy particularly liked or respected Voldemort. Feared - yes, but not respected, serving Voldemort only because he had no choice. Had he been wrong?

When no one voiced any objections, Malfoy continued,

"Anyway, as I was saying, apparently Vergne took the chair. Obviously, everyone in the common room immediately noticed that and stopped talking, expecting Rosier's reaction." Malfoy smirked viciously. "You see, Rosier couldn't not react at all; it was a clear challenge to his authority. If he ignored that, no one would have respected him. So he walked over to Vergne and asked him what he thought he was doing. And you know what Vergne replied?"

"What?"

Malfoy frowned. "It's a bit strange, actually, so I made Blaise repeat word for word what Vergne had said. Apparently, he said, _Taking what is mine. I'm rather fond of this chair, Sebastian._ And then, some of Rosier's hanger-ons left his side to stand beside Vergne - even Rosier's best friend, Patrick Selwyn. Everyone could see that Rosier was furious. It could have gotten very ugly, very fast, but Vergne let him save his face. He said, _I do not wish for us to become enemies, Sebastian. You are a powerful, intelligent wizard and I appreciate your company. It's nothing personal, my friend. I'm simply not a follower. _And he extended his hand. After a moment, Rosier clasped it."

"Huh," Ron said. "It's still strange. I've heard from the Gryffindor sixth years that Vergne's brilliant in every class, but taking over Slytherin house in two weeks...Just wow."

Harry couldn't say he was surprised. It had been coming for a while, and he doubted Rosier hadn't seen it coming as well; he was a smart bloke. "Rosier and Selwyn sat by Vergne's sides today. Does that mean they're his most valued…friends?" _Mini-Death Eaters._

Malfoy snorted. "It shows you have no idea about how Slytherin works, Potter. Rosier, yes: he probably _is _his most valuable 'friend' if Vergne let him save his face and sit by his right side. But placing someone to his left might mean several different things. The most likely one is that Selwyn is his favourite."

Harry blinked. "Favourite?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter. His fuck toy."

Harry's jaw went slack. "Ri- Vergne's gay?"

Malfoy stiffened. "And what's wrong with being gay, Potter?"

Harry flushed, suddenly remembering Ginny's words. "Er, nothing," he said uncomfortably, casting Malfoy a look. Was it true? Did Malfoy really have a thing for him? "I'm just surprised. I would've never thought he was gay."

Malfoy shrugged. "I've heard he swings both ways."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that piece of information.

He didn't know what to think. He'd always considered Voldemort an asexual being, interested only in power and nothing else. He simply couldn't imagine Voldemort interested in sex, and Riddle shouldn't be any different, should he?

But then Harry thought of Riddle's dark, intense eyes, burning with cruelty, and well.

He shifted uncomfortably.

* * *

-#-

Swearing, Harry threw the book away.

It was bloody useless. Three hours of research, and he still had no clue how Voldemort had managed to do it, and he didn't find anything relevant about magical cores, either.

"Madam Pince will kill you if she finds out how you treat her books," an amused voice said.

Harry looked up. Ginny.

"Hey." Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her down into his lap.

Ginny giggled, glancing around the quiet corner of the library they were in. "Harry!" But she didn't push him away when he kissed her hard, his anger shifting into arousal. His hands moved down from her shoulders to her breasts, stroking them through the thin fabric. She moaned, her nipples hardening.

"Please, Gin," Harry said, biting and sucking her lips. "I need you-"

"I thought it was a _library_, but it seems I was mistaken," said a familiar smooth voice.

Ginny shrieked and stumbled off Harry's lap. Flushing furiously, she shot Riddle a murderous look and stormed away.

Harry took a deep breath. Bloody hell, he was in no state to deal with Riddle.

"What do you want?" he bit out.

Riddle let his gaze travel from Harry's angry face, down his chest, to the bulge straining his jeans. Harry wished he had put on his robes before leaving the dorm.

Riddle's mouth curled slightly. "My, aren't you happy to see me."

Harry felt himself flush but refused to cover his crotch like a little boy. There was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. It was perfectly understandable: he'd been interrupted in the middle of a make-out session with his girlfriend. It was totally normal.

"Don't flatter yourself, Riddle," he said with a snort. "You aren't nearly that pretty. Now, what do you want?"

Riddle walked over and gracefully perched himself on the desk right in front of Harry.

Harry glared up at him but had to part his knees to avoid their legs touching. As a result, his hard-on seemed even more...er, obvious, which Riddle didn't seem to miss, if his smirk was any indication.

"What do I want," Riddle repeated, as though the words we completely unfamiliar to him. His long, slender finger tapped his lips thoughtfully.

"Like what you see?"

Harry snapped his gaze to Riddle's eyes. The bastard looked so ridiculously smug and all-knowing that Harry figured_ what the hell_.

"What am I supposed to like?" he said coldly. "If you like sucking dick, it doesn't mean I want your mouth on mine."

It felt bloody great to watch Riddle's eyes widen, to have the upper hand for a change, to be the one to startle and confuse him, but Harry still blushed at his own boldness. Had he really said that? Up until that point, he'd never honestly thought of Riddle mouth on his dick; he wasn't into blokes, much less into Tom Riddle. He'd said that just to get under Riddle's skin. Now though...It was the same thing as telling himself not to think of pink peacocks.

To add insult to the injury, Riddle recovered from his comment faster than him, and his reaction wasn't the one Harry had expected.

"You poor thing," Riddle drawled. "Doesn't your little slut put out often enough?"

He sprang to his feet and grabbed Riddle by his tie. "Don't you dare to speak of Ginny like that!"

Riddle smirked. "My, my. She doesn't let you between her legs at all, does she?"

"That's none of your business." Harry whipped out his wand. "And one more word about Ginny and I-"

"Calm down."

It was Riddle's face rather than his words that made Harry go quiet. Tom was looking at him with a fascinated, almost hungry expression. "Your magical core is pulsating. Calm down or you will harm us both."

Harry looked down at himself but saw nothing. "What are you on about?"

Cocking his head, Riddle studied him. "Tell me you do exercise your magic."

"What? What does it have to do with anything?" Harry snapped.

Riddle eyed him. "I'll take that as a no. You _fool_. And to think I was wondering what did you do to reduce your magical core to such a pitiful, unstable state. You're going to go insane within three months, you imbecile. Four, if you are lucky."

Harry's first urge was to laugh.

But he didn't.

He didn't, thinking about his increasingly violent outbursts of temper, the way he could barely control his magic, and the way his body constantly wanted something-sex or violence-all the time, and nothing seemed to sate the itch.

Hell, even now he felt feverish with anger, his whole body itching for a fight...or a fuck.

Bloody hell, there really was something wrong with him.

"What are you talking about?" Harry whispered, letting go of Riddle's tie.

Riddle paused, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of sharing his knowledge. Riddle was no philanthropist, after all.

At last, he said, "Do you know that you are the second most powerful wizard in school?"

"That can't be right. Surely the Headmistress-"

Riddle gave him an unimpressed look. "Minnie McGonagall is a very strong, capable witch, but in terms of raw magical power she is barely in the top ten. Even your little Mudblood is more powerful than her."

Harry was so surprised by this comment that he completely missed out the insult Riddle had thrown at his friend. "How do you know this?"

Riddle gave him a disdainful look. "You would have known it too if you bothered to _learn_. I could see magical auras by the time I was thirteen." He looked at Harry with an odd mix of disgust and hunger. "So much raw power wasted. What a pity. There are wizards who don't have even a hundredth of your power, but who are better wizards than you are."

Harry tried really hard to keep his temper in check. Riddle wasn't making his task easy. He took a deep, calming breath. "What does my magical power have to do with me going crazy?"

"Every power has a price," Riddle said coldly. "With great magical power comes the strain of controlling it. The greater the power, the greater the strain on the mind and on the body. If left uncontrolled, it slowly drives the wizard insane. It always starts small, with random outbursts of temper and accidental magic, but it gets worse-it _will _get worse, Potter."

"Is that how Voldemort went batshit crazy?" Harry said with a snort.

Riddle's lips thinned, eyes darkening. "I doubt it. I had a perfect control over my magic long before I started attending Hogwarts."

Harry chuckled. "So he just lost it later."

"Laugh, Harry. Laugh while you still can. You know I'm right. You can already feel it, don't you? Look at you." Riddle sneered at the bulge under Harry's jeans. "No self-control at all. Such lack of control is unacceptable for a wizard. Pathetic."

Harry felt his face heat up. "I'm a teenager. That's all."

Riddle laughed. "It's not just teenage hormones, and you know it. Don't fool yourself. It's not normal that when you get angry, you get aroused, and when you get aroused, you get angry. Your magic is messing with your system." Riddle smirked. "And unless you're harbouring secret feelings for me, you shouldn't have an erection right now. Or is there something you wish to tell me, my darling?"

His jaw tightening, Harry glared at him. "Fine, let's say I believe you. But if you're right, then why didn't I have this problem before? It started only a few months ago."

"Good question." Riddle tapped his wand against his lips thoughtfully. For the first time, Harry noticed that it wasn't the yew wand. He guessed it made sense. He doubted Riddle appeared on the battlefield with his wand, and Voldemort's yew wand was...

Harry frowned. Come to think of it, where was Voldemort's old wand? He knew Voldemort had been using the Elder Wand for months before the final battle. What had he done to his old wand?

"You started having problems since the Battle of Hogwarts, correct?" Riddle said suddenly.

Harry nodded.

"Of course… you were a horcrux," Riddle whispered, and Harry's eyes widened.

"How do you know that?" he asked, looking around quickly but no one was there but them.

Riddle gave him a flat look. "Please, don't insult my intelligence. I could perfectly see the glaring holes in the story of 'my' defeat. It doesn't matter now anyway. The relevant part is, you had a horcrux in you almost your entire life. A good deal of your magic was inaccessible to you, since it was getting quite the exercise keeping the horcrux from possessing you. But now-"

"There's no horcrux now," Harry finished.

"Indeed. You have always been powerful. You simply could not access all of your magic." Riddle looked thoughtful. "The problem is, if you didn't have the horcrux in you, you would have learned how to control such an amount of magic years ago. To make matters more complicated, your magical core has gotten used to spending a great deal of power for years, and now that the horcrux is gone, it has become very unstable."

Sighing, Harry raked his hand through his hair. "You were saying something about exercising my magic?"

"I was," Riddle said.

Harry looked at him hard.

The bastard merely raised an eyebrow.

Harry exhaled through his gritted teeth. "Tell me more about it."

Riddle raised the other eyebrow.

"Please," Harry bit out. He would make Riddle pay for this. Later.

Riddle smiled, but his voice was cool and neutral, oddly lacking any gloating as he said, "Yes, exercising your magic is a key. If you do it often enough, your core should become more stable."

Harry frowned. "I do use magic every day in class."

"The amount of spellwork we do in class is pathetic. It isn't nearly enough. Besides, it's not the quantity but...the quality that counts. You could perform _Lumos _a hundred times, but you would not feel any strain to your magical core. You need to use more serious, more magically demanding spells."

"What is the point in being powerful if I have to drain my magical reserves just to control it?"

Riddle looked almost approving. "That is actually a good point, though incorrect. When a wizard uses a powerful spell, it doesn't, exactly, drain his core. It merely temporarily exhausts it. If the wizard is powerful and trained enough, it doesn't even exhaust him. In a way, it is like exercising a muscle. After your exercise, your muscles might feel weaker and strained, but they would actually get stronger. It works the same way: the more you exercise your magical core, the stronger and more stable it gets. The more powerful spells you use on a daily basis, the longer it would take for you to tire out. Your magic would still get the necessary exercise, but after some practice, it wouldn't leave your drained at all-quite the opposite. You would feel more in control, but you would also feel stronger."

Harry looked at Riddle with narrowed eyes. "Let me guess: when you talk about powerful spells, you're talking about Dark Magic, aren't you?"

Riddle smirked slightly. "Unfortunately for you, yes. Powerful Light spells simply do not exist."

"That can't be right. The Patronus Charm-"

Riddle grimaced slightly, as though the charm personally offended him. "The Patronus Charm doesn't require great magical power. All it requires is concentration and a sappy memory. Any spoilt imbecile can do it."

Harry studied him. "Can you?"

Riddle pursed his lips. "Of course I can. There's no magic that I can't do."

Harry eyed him for a few moments but decided to let it go. For now. "Still, that can't be right. There must be some powerful Light spells."

Riddle gave him a condescending look. "Do you even know why Light magic called 'light'? Contrary to popular belief, Light doesn't mean 'good,' just as Dark doesn't mean 'evil.' Light spells simply feel light; they are _easy_. The spells that are labelled as 'Dark' aren't always harmful. The Ministry banned even some healing spells using the excuse that they had some minor negative side-effects. In truth, 'Light' wizards were simply too scared of the wizards who could cast such powerful spells."

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Riddle folded his arms over his chest. "I see you don't believe me. Very well. Then how would you explain that there are many harmful so-called 'Light' spells such as _Diffindo_ and _Reducto_ that can kill a person just as easily as the Killing Curse but less quickly? And yet they are taught at this very school, in _second_ year Charms classes. What makes those spells 'Light'? They are harmful, are they not? Of course, you could argue that the Severing Charm and the Reductor Curse are normally used for innocent purposes, but what about _Expulso_? Or _Confringo_? They have no other purpose but to harm and destroy. Why aren't they labelled as Dark?"

Harry tried to think of an explanation and couldn't.

Riddle leaned over, eyes hard. "I will tell you why: because they can be used by your average wizard. Those spells are simply stripped down versions of similar Dark spells. The only difference between them is that their Dark versions are more powerful and require a certain amount of magical power your average wizard doesn't possess."

Harry snorted. "You won't convince me that Dark Magic is harmless and good."

Riddle looked almost amused. "I'm not attempting to. I'm not saying that Dark Magic and Dark wizards are _misunderstood_. It _is _true that most Dark spells are harmful. My point is, they were banned not because of their harmfulness but because they were too powerful and it scared weak people who couldn't use them. Initially, there was no distinction between Light Magic and Dark Magic; there was only Magic used by everyone. The labels have been given only in 1629 with the foundation of the Ministry of Magic that replaced the Wizards' Council. Before that time, the term 'Dark Magic' simply didn't exist. It was invented by people who just didn't have the power to wield such magic."

"I don't believe you," Harry said, aware that his tone didn't sound very convincing.

Riddle sneered. "If you don't believe me, it's easy enough to check." He went over to the History of Magic section and pulled out a book. Glancing at the table of contents, he returned to Harry and handed the book to him. "Chapter 17. In 1629, the newly-formed Ministry of Magic labelled three hundred eighty-nine spells as 'Dark,' restricting or forbidding their use. The Ministry-approved spells were labelled as 'Light.'"

Harry quickly skimmed the page. Although the book's author clearly praised the Ministry's actions, all in all, what Riddle was telling him seemed to be true.

"See?" Riddle said scathingly. "The so-called 'Light' and 'Dark' branches of Magic appeared less than four centuries ago in a matter of days – only because the Ministry decided so. The wizarding families that have accepted the Ministry's new rules and pro-Muggleborn policies and thus have given up their cultural and magical heritage are called 'blood traitors' by other purebloods for a reason. Magic is our Might, and no one has the right to decide what spells we can use and can't."

Harry shivered, remembering the hideous Magic is Might statue created after the Death Eaters took over the Ministry, but now it acquired another meaning besides wizards' superiority over muggles.

"So let me get it straight: you're basically saying that I need to learn and regularly use some Dark spells, because only those banned spells are powerful enough to exercise my magical core?" When Riddle inclined his head, Harry pressed his lips together. "I'm sure I can find some strong Light spells."

Riddle's eyes flashed with irritation. "If you want to waste your time searching for powerful Ministry-approved spells, be my guest. I wasted enough of my time on you." He turned to leave.

Harry clenched his jaw.

"Riddle."

The Slytherin stopped and looked back at him.

Harry knew he was going to regret it. "You were saying something about healing spells?"

A slow, predatory smile appeared on Riddle's lips. "Meet me at the Chamber of Secrets tonight. Ten sharp. Don't be late."


	3. Chamber of Secrets

**Chapter 3**

Harry had told himself he wouldn't go.

He knew perfectly well that Riddle had skilfully manipulated him into agreeing to come. He knew Riddle had some ulterior motives.

And yet here he was, in Myrtle's bathroom at ten sharp.

Idiot. He was a bloody idiot.

The bathroom was just as he remembered it: damp floor, a large, cracked mirror, a row of chipped sinks, and a few candles that scarcely penetrated the murkiness of the room. The wooden doors to the stalls were scratched and some of them were dangling off their hinges.

It was still the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in.

"Are you going in or not?" a voice said from behind, making Harry jump.

Wondering how Riddle had masked his magic, Harry walked to the familiar sink.

"_Open_," he hissed, looking at the tap with a snake.

The sink moved and sank out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed. Harry shivered, remembering the basilisk, Ginny, the Diary. "How did you know I still speak Parseltongue? I told everyone I lost the ability."

"I didn't know…but I suspected. You cannot simply forget the language you have spoken for years." Riddle stepped forward so that they stood next to each other, looking down the dark tunnel.

"_Stairs_," Riddle hissed, and Harry shivered again. Merlin, it was crazy—_he _was crazy. He was going into the Chamber of Secrets with Voldemort, and out of his free will.

"Are you coming or not?" Riddle said impatiently.

Gripping his wand, Harry stepped onto the stairs as well.

"_Close_," Riddle hissed and the opening above them closed. "_Move_."

The stairs started noiselessly moving down.

It was so dark here.

Dark and cold.

And quiet.

"I can kill you now, you know," Riddle said suddenly, his voice conversational and pleasant.

Harry gripped his wand tighter. Crazy.

"The thought crossed my mind, too," he said, aiming for the same nonchalance and, oddly enough, succeeding.

Even though he couldn't see Riddle, he had a feeling he was smiling. "What thought? That I could kill you? Or that you could kill me?"

"Both."

Riddle laughed. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck.

Crazy. He was crazy. Maybe both of them were.

"I won't," Riddle said as the stairs stopped moving. "Not yet. You provide some entertainment."

"Good to know," Harry said, following him.

The long walk was as nerve-wracking as he remembered—though for a different reason this time.

And then, at last, Harry saw a wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with glinting emeralds.

Harry licked his lips and hissed, "_Open_."

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves sliding smoothly out of sight, and Harry walked inside, the other boy following him.

Riddle stopped at the sight of the basilisk's skeleton.

"On the second thought, I'm reconsidering my decision not to kill you."

Harry stared, too. He couldn't believe he really killed that thing when he was twelve. "It's not like you hadn't known I killed it."

"Yes, I was aware of the fact," Riddle said scathingly. "It says so on your Chocolate Frog card."

"Don't tell me you were fond of it."

"She."

Harry looked at Riddle who was still staring at the dead serpent. "What?"

"It was a she," Riddle said very evenly, but Harry noticed that he had an iron grip on his wand.

"You _were _fond of it." Harry was surprised to the core. He hadn't thought Voldemort was capable of fondness.

"She was mine," Riddle said sharply.

Possessiveness; of course. It made more sense than fondness. Coming from an orphanage, Riddle had probably owned few things that he could proudly call his; Harry wished he didn't understand how it felt. Bloody hell, he didn't want to feel sorry for Tom Riddle. Riddle didn't deserve his pity and certainly wouldn't want it.

"She tried to eat me," he said neutrally, looking around the long, dimly lit chamber. It looked exactly as he remembered it. Even Riddle looked exactly the same as the Diary Riddle.

But of course he did. They were the same age, after all.

At last, Riddle tore his gaze from the skeleton and looked at Harry. "Why are you looking at me in such a way?"

Harry shrugged. "Let's get on with it."

"Very well." Riddle walked to the wall to stand in front of it.

"What are you doing?"

"I hate cold, and it's freezing here. There is a perfectly adequate room for our purposes. "_Open_." With a grating noise, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a room.

As they walked in, the torches and fireplace lit up.

Unsurprisingly, the room was decorated in Slytherin colours. It was quite small and sparsely furnished: an armchair, a couch, and a small table between them. Behind him, half the wall was occupied by bookshelves crammed with texts and tomes. There was no other furniture, but the thick grey carpet on the floor made the room look more comfortable.

Riddle sat down, sprawled in the armchair, looking completely at ease. "I take it you haven't been here before?"

"No," Harry said, sitting down on the couch stiffly. "Well?"

"Aren't we impatient," Riddle murmured, watching him with an inscrutable expression.

Harry grimaced. "Look, this place doesn't really bring back pleasant memories. I don't want to stay here longer than I have to."

Riddle hummed thoughtfully and flicked his wand. "_Serpensortia_."

"It isn't a dark spell," Harry said, watching the snake warily.

"No, it is not. But the spell you are going to use to kill it is."

Harry's jaw tightened. "That wasn't the deal. You said something about healing spells."

"Stop trying my patience," Riddle snapped. "It's not like you haven't killed any snakes before. Ferana's skeleton is a proof enough."

"It's not the same!" Harry said.

Riddle leaned forward, eyes flashing angrily. "Yes, it isn't. She was a highly intelligent, thousand-year old magical being. This is a pathetic conjured snake."

Harry wet his lips. "Look. I'm sorry about—"

"Save your insincere apologies," Riddle said coldly. "Now, watch and learn." He looked at the snake and waved his wand. "_Hlaera_."

The snake's hiss of agony was almost deafening. Shuddering, Harry watched in morbid fascination as the snake's skin started tearing off, revealing her insides. "Don't," he said, then louder, "Stop it!"

"It is dead already," Riddle said, watching Harry's reaction with interest. "It's just a snake, Harry. And it's a relatively quick death. A fascinating spell, is it not?"

"You're sick," Harry said. "And you blame the Ministry for banning dark spells? What purpose does that spell serve? Besides torture?"

"Actually," Riddle said, lazily twirling his wand in his fingers. "It's a very useful spell that was originally created for a practical reason: for the infamous Polyjuice Potion. The spell is used to get one of the ingredients, boomslang skin. The snake has to be alive, or the skin would lose its magical properties."

"We've prepared the Polyjuice Potion a few times, and I know for a fact the potion needs a _shed _skin of boomslang."

"That's what modern books fool you into believing. Why do you think boomslang skin is not sold at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley? Why is it an illegal ingredient if it's a 'shed' skin of boomslang, as your good Light books claim?"

Harry had nothing to say to that. So he said nothing.

Riddle gave him an irritated look. "Your turn." He conjured another snake.

Harry set his jaw. "I won't do it. I'm not a Dark wizard. I don't enjoy torturing animals."

"Ah. Very well." Riddle looked at the conjured snake and murmured, "_Diffindo_." He cut off the snake's tail and the hissed screams of agony filled the room.

"Don't!"

Riddle smiled at him pleasantly. "Why, Harry? It's a nice, good Light spell, after all. _Diffindo_." Another bit of the snake's tail was cut off. Harry wished he hadn't understood Parseltongue.

"Fine, you have point," he gritted out. "Now kill her!"

Riddle leaned back in his armchair. "Do it yourself."

Harry aimed his wand at the snake's head. "_Diffindo_." The hisses stopped.

A hush fell over the room.

Harry looked at Riddle.

Riddle looked back at him. Point proven.

"_Serpensortia_," he said softly.

Harry shifted his gaze to the conjured snake.

"Your wand movement is off—"

"_Hlaera_," Harry said angrily, just wanting to do it and be done with it.

If he hadn't been sitting, he would have staggered and possibly fallen.

He was distantly aware of the snake's hisses but he couldn't care less—not when every nerve in his body seemed to come alive, tingling with awareness. The rush of pure power was incredible. It was difficult to classify it as pleasure but it most definitely wasn't pain. It was too much and not enough at the same time. But the sensation was quickly fading, and Harry conjured another snake and cast the spell again, distantly aware that he was grinning like a maniac.

Then again.

Again, again, and _again_. Bloody hell, never before had he felt so attuned to his magic, so strong, and right, and invincible—

"Enough."

Harry stopped as if shot, his mind clearing at the sound of Riddle's voice. He blinked and looked around him. His eyes widened. There was blood everywhere. _Dozens_ of dead snakes. Had he done that?

He had.

"What," Harry said faintly before turning to Riddle and glaring accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me it'd feel like—like that?"

Riddle was looking at him oddly.

"What?"

A small smirk appeared on the Slytherin's face. "Oh, nothing. You are just full of surprises, Harry. The spell made you feel good. You enjoyed it."

Harry felt his stomach churn. He clenched his trembling fingers into fists. "I didn't."

"You did."

"I didn't."

"You d—" Riddle cut himself off, his lips twisting. "What are we, two? I could practically feel my IQ dropping." He looked at Harry as if it was somehow his fault. Then, he smirked slightly. "There is little point in denying it, pet. I would hardly judge you for being a bad, naughty boy."

Harry felt his ears heat up. "Fine; I liked it. So what? Aren't the Dark Arts supposed to be seductive, or whatever?"

"That's a common misconception."

"What do you mean?"

Riddle looked away from him and stared at the flames in the fireplace, all traces of amusement gone. His face was cold now, eyes hard. "When the Ministry banned powerful spells, labelling them dark, it changed history of magic. It changed magic. I told you that prior to the foundation of the Ministry, there were no 'light' and 'dark' branches of magic, but now, thanks to the Ministry's actions, there are.

"Soon after the decree was issued, a great number of spells were invented to replace those banned spells. The Hogwarts curriculum was completely changed: classes such as Wards, Ritual Magic, Spell Creation, Ancient Arts, and Magical Theory were removed. Underage magic was forbidden. Mudbloods—"

"Don't call them that."

Riddle smiled at him pleasantly and said, "_Mudbloods_ wholeheartedly supported the Ministry, because the new laws put them on an even footing with purebloods. So unless wizards chose to break the law to teach their children old magic, new generations never learned it. Even such old pureblood families as the Weasleys, Potters, and Longbottoms completely ceased the use of old, heavy spells and started using the new, easy ones. They truly became 'Light.'" Riddle sneered. "What do you think the consequences were? After a few generations? A few centuries?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess their ability to cast old spells became weaker."

"Your answer is correct but incomplete. Our magic is in our blood. Some wizarding families have the aptitude to Charms or Transfiguration because their ancestors were skilled at them _and_ practiced them often enough. It is the same with dark magic. Such families as the Blacks and Malfoys never stopped using the Arts, so they have an affinity to dark magic."

Riddle's lips curled in distaste. "The reason Mudbloods are so 'good' and 'light' is because they have no affinity to begin with. They learn only light magic at Hogwarts, so their affinity becomes light. But as opposed to light wizarding families, they don't have light magic in their blood and actually have a good chance to use dark spells without much discomfort. For most light wizards, dark spells are very difficult to cast and cause a great deal of discomfort, even nausea. "

Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I don't get it. First you say there's no Light and Dark. Now you call those banned spells dark, and Voldemort called himself the _Dark_ Lord. You're inconsistent, don't you think, Tom?"

Riddle didn't seem fazed. "Not at all. If I do not agree with the Ministry's classification of spells, it doesn't mean I don't accept it. The term 'Dark Magic' is as good as any to describe Old Magic." The cold, cruel smile that appeared on Riddle's face sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "And I rather like the term 'Dark Lord.'"

The look Riddle gave him made Harry even more uncomfortable. "Now you understand why I was surprised that you enjoyed casting the Hlaera curse. The Potters are one of the oldest light families in Wizarding Britain. A Potter should have felt sick, but you loved it. You _loved_ it, Harry, and you can't even blame your blood. Your blood is as light as it gets." Riddle looked almost gleeful. "It's you."

Harry glared at him. "I'm not a dark wizard. It must have been a fluke. I used some dark spells before and never felt anything like that."

Riddle leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "You have? What spells?"

Harry wasn't going to tell Riddle, of all people, that he'd successfully used some of the Unforgivables. "I've cast the Sectumsempra curse. It felt nothing like that."

Riddle's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I have never heard of such a curse."

Harry couldn't help but grin at the annoyance and disbelief in Riddle's voice, as if he couldn't fathom how he, Tom Riddle, didn't know everything. In that sense, Riddle reminded him of Hermione: both were insufferable know-it-all's.

"It's a curse that slashes the victim, causing deadly wounds." Harry grimaced, remembering George's ear. "Any body parts severed by the curse can't be regrown."

Riddle looked highly interested. "Show me." He conjured another snake.

Knowing that Riddle wouldn't leave him alone until he did it, Harry lifted his wand and aimed it at the snake. "_Sectumsempra_." Doing his best to ignore its hisses, he looked at Riddle. "See? I didn't feel a thing. I'm not a dark wizard."

Riddle frowned before conjuring another snake. "_Sectumsempra_." His face cleared. "It isn't dark magic, Potter. Well, at least not yet."

"I've been told it's a dark spell."

Riddle cocked his head, considering. "If we use the Ministry definition, it _is _a dark spell: it is certainly powerful, very harmful, and magically demanding. But the spell doesn't feel dark. It is a dark curse, but it isn't dark magic yet. Dark magic always affects the wizard—positively or negatively, but it does; you cannot stay indifferent to it. The Sectumsempra Curse feels too... clean and neutral. I can tell that the spell was invented relatively recently. Correct?"

Harry nodded, frowning. "A few decades ago. Are you really saying there's a difference between a dark spell and dark magic?"

"I wouldn't say there's a _difference_." Riddle looked irritated, almost frustrated. "The problem is, the Ministry classification is imperfect. The Ministry labels many spells as dark, but those idiots don't distinguish between them. There are... degrees of dark. I suppose all forms of dark magic requiring an incantation can be called a dark spell, but not all dark spells can be called dark magic. True dark magic—or at least what _I_ consider true dark magic—is very old, invented at the time when Earth magic was still widely practiced and magic was pure and just _more_. Therefore, old dark spells like the Hlaera Curse have a different feel to them than new dark spells. Even the Unforgivables are relatively young compared to that curse."

Riddle shrugged. "After a few centuries of being in use, the Sectumsempra Curse will probably mature and stop being so untainted and neutral, but it is unlikely it would ever feel the same as ancient spells."

Harry chuckled. "You talk about dark spells like they're alive."

Riddle's expression turned almost fond. Harry thought it looked kind of creepy. "In a way, they are. That is the nature of powerful spells, Harry: they can evolution, mutate and change with time. As a matter of fact, only those spells that can connect with Earth magic and use it to become stronger and mutate can become truly powerful. That is why they are considered dark, wrong, and twisted. That is why they are called the Dark Arts."

Harry frowned, remembering Snape and his words about dark magic.

_The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, and indestructible_.

"Yes, I've heard of it before," he said. "But I still don't understand how a spell can mutate with time. It's just a word, not a being."

The look Riddle gave him made him feel like an idiot. "A spell is not merely a word; it's an expression of magic. I can't simply choose a pretty word and decide that if I wave my wand and say the word, I will get the effect I desire. Spell Creation is one of the most difficult fields of magic. Inventing even a useless spell requires a vast knowledge and understanding of Earth Magic, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Magical Theory. The only difference between creating a dark spell and a regular spell is that you must additionally calculate and include the ability to mutate and adapt, which is the hardest part of Spell Creation. Inventing a powerful dark spell like the Sectumsempra Curse is not something an average wizard can accomplish." Riddle looked rather impressed. "It has a potential to become an unblockable curse, an 'Unforgivable,' in a millennium or so."

"Have you done it? Created a dark spell?" Harry asked, curious despite himself. For him, the task seemed too monumental.

"I have," Riddle said, not without smugness. "As a matter of fact, I invented one just before I ended up here."

Harry suppressed a smile. It was pretty obvious to him that Riddle wanted him to ask what spell he'd created. He tended to forget about it, but for all of Riddle's maturity and incredible knowledge, he was still a teenager_—_a teenager who wanted to gloat and be praised.

"A torture spell, no doubt," Harry commented. He wasn't indulging Riddle. He was just genuinely curious.

"I'm terribly wounded you think I'm so unimaginative. In fact, it is a healing spell." Seeing Harry's expression, Riddle sneered. "No, I didn't suddenly realize that I wanted to heal people." He looked offended even by mere suggestion that he could be so disgustingly soft-hearted. "There are already a great number of torture curses and I see little point in wasting my time inventing another one. Besides, I liked the challenge of creating a spell in the only area I have no talent for."

"Did you really just admit that you were bad at something?"

Riddle gave him a look. "If you don't know your weaknesses, you can't improve upon them. Besides, I didn't say I was bad at healing magic; I'm simply not as superior as I am at other types of magic. My worst is still much better than most wizards' best."

"I can't believe I thought Malfoy was arrogant," Harry muttered before raising his voice. "Well, you did promise to teach me some healing spells."

Riddle seemed to be considering it for a few moments. "Very well."

After some thought, he transfigured one of the dead snakes into a rabbit. "_Sectumsempra_," he said, slashing the rabbit's chest. Harry grimaced, but Riddle was already healing the deep gash, "_Vulnera Sanentur_."

Harry blinked. It was the same song-like incantation Snape had used on Malfoy!

"I've seen this spell used before," he said, eyeing the rabbit. "I just didn't know it was a dark spell and that it was you who created it."

"Indeed?" Riddle seemed to be torn between being pleased and disappointed. "Is it a well-known spell already?"

"Er, I don't think so. I'd never heard of it before I saw it used by a Death Eater. Just like you, Snape used it to heal the wounds inflicted by the Sectumsempra Curse. I don't think many people know the spell. I've tried to look it up afterwards but couldn't find it anywhere and I didn't remember the full incantation. But, unlike you, Snape repeated the incantation three times."

Riddle looked thoughtful. "I do not know why. I didn't have much opportunity to test the spell. Perhaps it depends on the seriousness of the wound. Or perhaps the answer is much simpler."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, you're just a better wizard than he was; that must be it. Seriously, do you drink an ego-boosting potion instead of tea?"

"It's not arrogance if it is true," Riddle informed him and Harry chuckled.

His smile faded when he realized he was having _fun_. With Voldemort.

"Why that face?" Riddle murmured, his expression inscrutable.

Harry shrugged, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. "So... What was the incantation?"

He felt Riddle's eyes on him but didn't look at him.

"The incantation is Vulnera Sanentur," Riddle said slowly. "The spell requires much more power than regular healing spells. Despite its 'good' purposes, the spell would never get the Ministry's approval and would be no doubt classified as dark, because the spell can be quite dangerous to the caster if he overestimates his magical reserves or underestimates the severity of the wound he is attempting to heal. In such a case, the spell would draw life source from the caster to heal the wound. Now, watch the wand movement; it's very important."

"I think I've got it." Impatiently, Harry turned to the rabbit and slashed its stomach with Sectumsempra. "_Vulnera Sanentur_." The gaping wound started slowly closing. Harry repeated the spell, just in case.

By the time the wound was completely healed, Harry felt a bit tired but otherwise good. He didn't feel odd.

He didn't feel like a dark wizard.

"Very good. It's a relatively new spell, so it's no wonder it doesn't affect you like the Hlaera Curse did."

"I'd take it over the Hlaera Curse any day." Harry shivered at the reminder of the unnatural, giddy rush caused by the curse. Now that his head was clear, Harry was more than a little disturbed by how little he had cared about anything but sheer power when he cast the spell. What had he been _thinking_?

Come to think of it, what was he even doing here with Tom bloody Riddle? Why had he come? He had already known the Sectumsempra curse. He could have learned a few others on his own.

Why had he come?

Why?

Getting increasingly confused and disturbed by his own actions, Harry stood up. "Well, thanks, I guess." He didn't feel particularly grateful. Whatever Riddle's motives were, they were ambiguous at best. "I'll make sure to cast Sectumsempra and Vulnera Sanentur several times a day. It should be enough. I feel calmer already."

Ignoring Riddle's displeased expression, he headed to the exit. He was almost out of the room when a single word stopped him.

"Coward."

Harry told himself he wouldn't rise to the bait. "Maybe," he said, without turning around. "But a smart one."

Riddle laughed, the sound cold and chilling. "Very well. If you like being an uneducated sheep, that's your choice. Perhaps I was giving you more credit than you deserve. If you want to be _average_, be average. "

Harry clenched his jaw but left.

He wouldn't let Riddle manipulate him.

Not again.


	4. Duelling Club

**-#-**

**Chapter 4**

**Duelling Club**

"You have armadillo bile, moondew, chizpurfle carapace, bicorn horn, erumpent tail, fluxweed, boomslang skin, wartcap powder, and honeywater at your disposal," Slughorn said, turning to the class. "You have one hour to make a potion using those ingredients. The more ingredients you use, the higher your mark will be." He smiled at Harry, probably still hoping that Harry would finally demonstrate his "talent" and create some complicated potion.

Harry smiled back weakly and turned away.

Even though it'd been weeks since the beginning of the school year, he still caught himself thinking how odd all of it was. After a year of horcrux hunting, after the war, after everything that had happened, returning to Hogwarts and being just a student felt…surreal – nice, but surreal.

And it was probably weird of him to be noticing this only now. But then, considering that he had spent the previous weeks obsessing over Riddle, too frustrated and pissed off to pay attention to other things, it probably wasn't that surprising.

Harry grimaced. Thank Merlin he was over it. Looking back, he couldn't help but cringe at his paranoid behaviour. Yes, he still didn't trust Riddle, since he probably _was_ up to no good, but Riddle was hardly going to cast the Unforgivables at other students the moment Harry looked away from him. Riddle had had the perfect opportunity to attack him the other night if he wanted, but he didn't, and as much as it pained Harry to admit it, he _had_ helped him. Whatever Riddle's motives were, his Dark Arts lesson did help: Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt so good. There was no trace of the ever-present building tension in his body and he hadn't lost his temper or broken anything with his accidental magic in days.

And all it took was to cast a few dark spells a day. Harry could live with that. Usually he just pretended that the spells weren't dark, which was easy enough to do, since Sectumsempra and Vulnera Sanentur seemed no different from other spells he was used to, just more draining. They were nothing special. Nothing extraordinary.

_I could do harder spells_, a little nagging voice whispered in the back of his head. _I could do that other spell again._

Harry squashed down the thought, forcing himself to think about the spells he'd _been_ practicing.

Actually, the hardest part was finding a place to practice. The Room of Requirement didn't seem to be working after the Fiendfyre, and since Harry wasn't sure whether the school's wards could detect dark magic, he'd had to go to the Chamber of Secrets again. He was determined to find another place, though; he didn't want to accidentally meet Riddle there—not that Riddle had been paying him much attention lately.

Not that Harry cared.

"Stop daydreaming, Potter, and make yourself useful," Malfoy snapped, pulling him away from his thoughts. "I'm not going to do all the work myself! You might be Slughorn's pet, but I'm not, so I won't get away with a slap on the wrist if we don't get the potion done. Cut the boomslang skin, will you?"

"Someone's pissy today," Harry murmured, but reached for the skin nonetheless. "What did Rosier do this time?"

Malfoy just scowled, throwing a glare towards Rosier, who was working on his potion with Selwyn at the front of the classroom. Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes; he didn't want to be hexed.

"You know," he started, cutting the boomslang skin automatically, but forgot what he'd been about to say. He stared at the skin. "Hey, Malfoy."

"What?" the blond grumbled, cutting the erumpent tail.

"Do you know how they get boomslang skin?"

Malfoy stopped cutting. Slowly, the grey eyes looked up at him. "Maybe," he said, his face wary but curious.

Harry wet his lips. "They use a special dark spell for that, don't they?"

Malfoy's eyes widened. He glanced around the classroom, but no one was paying them any attention. Slughorn was explaining something to Ron.

"Why the sudden interest, Potter?" he said evasively, his voice a bit high.

"Have you ever cast it? The spell, I mean."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Do you seriously expect me to admit casting an illegal dark curse?"

Harry held his gaze. "If I wanted you to get thrown into Azkaban, I wouldn't have testified on your behalf."

Malfoy looked highly uncomfortable, as he always did at the mention of the topic. He never spoke of the trial and had never thanked him, not even when Harry gave him back his wand. Harry couldn't help but think he was an ungrateful brat. It wasn't that he particularly wanted Draco's gratitude, but hell, he _did_ save him and his parents from getting thrown into Azkaban and he did stop the Ministry from confiscating all their properties, making a lot of people angry in the process.

"Fine, I have," Malfoy said testily.

Harry bit his lip. "Did you…Did you like it?" _Or is it just me? Am I just as sick as Riddle?_

"I'm not discussing this with you," Malfoy said quickly, shifting his gaze to their cauldron. "Can we just get on with the work?"

"Not until you answer me."

"Fine; I did," Malfoy snapped. "Now cut the bloody skin, Potter!"

Harry smiled.

* * *

-#-

"The hottest Slytherin girl," Ron prompted, grinning.

Harry took a gulp of his butterbeer, trying and failing to think of someone.

"Hmm, Daphne Greengrass," said Terry from where he sat leaning against Dean's bed.

"Her little sister is way hotter." Seamus leered. "Those legs...damn."

"Diana Zabini," Neville said, not looking as uncomfortable with the topic as he once would have been. The old Neville would have been blushing and stammering. Harry had to admit he liked the new one better.

"Helen Flint," Anthony Goldstein said.

"Pansy Parkinson," murmured Cornfoot.

Michael Corner cringed. "To each their own, I guess. It's Daphne for me."

"As much as it pains me to agree with Finnigan," Malfoy drawled out from his bed. "Astoria _is _gorgeous."

Harry hid a smile. For someone who claimed to hate spending time in the company of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Malfoy never left the room when the eighth year boys gathered in their room on Friday evenings. Since they weren't welcomed in the Slytherin common room and it was impractical to go all the way up to their own common rooms, it had become a tradition of sorts to gather in their room.

"Diana Zabini," drawled Smith with an obnoxious smirk. "Best tits."

"Oh yeah, Diana," Ron said with a dreamy smile before giving Harry a panicked look. "Don't tell Hermione, mate!"

Harry chuckled. "I won't, Ron, relax. It's just a game."

"What about you, Harry?" Anthony asked.

Harry shrugged. "Probably Astoria. She's very pretty."

"Okay, my turn," Seamus said with a smirk. "The hottest Slytherin bloke."

Ron groaned. "Come on, mate, some of us don't swing that way at all!"

Grinning, Seamus lifted his eyebrows. "So? You have eyes. Admitting a bloke is handsome won't make you gay, Weasley. Rules are rules."

"Fine," Ron grumbled. "I guess Malcolm Baddock is okay looking. For a bloke."

Shaking his head, Harry took another gulp of his butterbeer.

Seamus sniggered. "He looks like a girl, mate. But whatever floats your boat." He leered. "Personally, I'd fuck Tom Vergne."

Harry nearly choked on his drink but managed not to snort it out of his nose.

Neville grimaced. "Vergne? He gives me the creeps. He pretends to be nice, but he's actually an arrogant arse."

Harry always knew Neville was a smart one.

"Oh come on, Nev!" Seamus said. "Who cares about his attitude when he's drop dead gorgeous? Just looking at him makes me all hot and bothered."

Harry wondered if the Wizarding world was always so open-minded about same sex relationships and he just missed it.

"I care," Neville said firmly. "Zabini's handsome too, but he isn't a two-faced snake. Your turn, Zach."

"Sebastian Rosier," Smith said with a leer. "He's got one nice body."

"No taste at all," Malfoy grumbled. Everyone ignored him.

"One hundred percent straight here," Dean said, blushing slightly. "But even I can see Vergne's hot."

Anthony looked thoughtful. "Yeah, Vergne's probably the best-looking bloke in school, but I'm not really into the whole 'tall, dark and dangerous' thing—no offence, Harry."

"None taken," Harry said with a snort. "And I'm not dangerous."

Smiling, Anthony saluted Malfoy with his drink. "So...I'd say Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy's cheeks went pink. "At least someone here has an excellent taste," he said smugly. "I suppose I can't choose myself, so...Vergne. He's almost as handsome as me."

Zach snorted. "Right. Comparing incomparable."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. "What is that supposed to mean, Smith?"

Zach smirked. "Isn't it obvious? Vergne is handsome and hot. You're pretty and girly. Feel the difference? You can't compare yourself to blokes like Vergne, Rosier and Potter."

Flushing with fury, Malfoy gave him a murderous look. "I'll have you know I'm very handsome!"

"Mates, come on!" Seamus said before it could escalate into an ugly argument. "Terry, your turn."

"Rosier," Terry murmured with a blush.

"Vergne," Cornfoot said.

Corner grinned. "I won't be original: Tom Vergne. Gorgeous hands, if you get what I mean."

Harry took a big gulp of his butterbeer.

"What about you, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "Who'd you rather shag?"

Smith sneered. "Hoping it's you, Malfoy?" He yelped when Draco hexed him.

"Yeah, mate, come on, it's only fair!" Ron said.

Harry fidgeted under everyone's expectant gazes. "I guess Rosier is handsome."

"Rosier?" Seamus said with an obnoxious smirk.

Harry met his eyes steadily. "Yes, Rosier."

"Oh come on, I don't believe you, mate!" Seamus wiggled his eyebrows. "I caught you a few times looking at a certain Slytherin, and it wasn't Rosier."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Seamus. If I looked at Vergne once or twice, it obviously means that I want to pin him down and fuck him senseless."

"Ew," Ron said, growing red in the face. "I really, really didn't need that image in my head, mate."

Harry scowled, nursing his butterbeer and wishing for a stronger drink.

"Alright, my turn," Malfoy said, breaking the somewhat awkward silence. "Slytherin you dislike the most."

"Ooh, that's a good one!" Ron said with a wide grin. "My vote goes to you, Malfoy!"

Malfoy smirked. "Coming from you, I'll take this as a compliment. _My _vote goes to the Senior Prat, also known as Sebastian Rosier."

Smith snorted. "What a surprise. My vote goes to you."

"Tom Vergne," Neville said.

Yeah, Neville definitely was a smart one.

"Sebastian Rosier," Dean said, nodding to Malfoy. Malfoy smiled approvingly.

"Theodore Nott," Seamus said, his face darkening. Harry winced. He knew Seamus's roommates were making his life a living hell, Nott more so than the others.

"Yeah, Nott," said Goldstein.

Terry nodded. "Same here."

"Rosier," said Cornfoot. "His smile annoys me."

"Nott," Corner said.

Harry shrugged slightly when it was his turn. "I don't dislike anyone."

And it was true. He couldn't say he liked Slytherins, but he also couldn't say he particularly disliked any of them. He wouldn't really call whatever he felt for Riddle 'dislike.' The word was too…inadequate.

Too weak.

* * *

-#-

"Welcome to the Duelling Club," Professor Augusta Frulli said cheerfully to the crowd of students gathered around the duelling platform she stood on. "I'm aware that some of you participated in a Duelling Club six years ago, but I doubt you will find any similarities between my club and Professor Lockhart's. For one thing, only sixth, seventh, and eighth years were allowed to join. I know that many of your younger friends and relatives weren't happy about it, but the age limit is there for a very good reason." She held a dramatic pause, making sure everyone was paying attention.

Harry didn't quite know what to make of her. She was certainly one of the best DADA professors they had ever had, but she had her quirks. Being an Italian, she didn't care much for the British Ministry rules, and Harry suspected that many of the spells they had been learning wouldn't be approved by the Ministry. He didn't think they were dark spells per se— at least not if he went by Riddle's definition of dark spells. Some of them were simply questionable in their purpose and intent. Hermione had tried to tell the professor that, but Frulli shrugged it off, saying that those spells were perfectly legal in Italy.

"The age limit is there because this club would have been too dangerous for younger students." Frulli held another dramatic pause. "You may use any curses and hexes you have learned, bar the Unforgivables."

"What?" Hermione gasped as the excited murmurs filled the room. "But that's irresponsible and dangerous!"

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said with a grin. "We aren't kids. It's time to show off all the spells we've learned! We'll have an advantage over them!"

Hermione gave him a look, but Ron only grinned wider. "Come on, I know you're dying to show off your skills."

Hermione smiled reluctantly. "Fine, I suppose it won't be _too _bad. And earning fifty points is no joking matter. Harry? What are you looking at?"

Harry watched the corner of the room where Riddle held court. As usual, Patrick Selwyn and Sebastian Rosier stood by his sides and were conversing with him in hushed tones.

"Looks like they want those fifty points, too, Hermione," Harry said, nodding towards the trio.

Hermione frowned, the corners of her lips turning down. "Well, I'm sure we can beat them. Selwyn and Rosier both have excellent marks in DADA, but how much practical experience could they possibly have? They didn't fight in the war. And Vergne... I've ever heard professors gush over him, but he's only a sixth year. He can't be _that_ good. We have two years of experience over him."

Ron didn't look so sure. "Hermione, I don't think the bloke who found his way to the top of the Slytherin food chain within a few weeks is anything but dangerous."

She didn't look convinced. "I'm certain I can handle him."

Harry remembered Riddle's words about Hermione being powerful. Combined with her encyclopedic knowledge of spells, she probably stood some chance against Riddle. Some.

Frulli spoke again. "There will be a duelling tournament near the end of the school year, but for now, we'll use the following system: every house will choose a champion. The champions will be paired, and the winners of each pair will duel each other. The winner of the final duel gets fifty points, as I mentioned earlier. You have five minutes to choose your champion." She waved her wand and a clock appeared in the air.

Immediately, Harry, Hermione and Ron were surrounded by Gryffindors.

"Harry, of course!"

"Maybe Hermione—"

"No, Harry should be the champion! He's never let us down!"

"I don't know, I really want to participate myself—"

"Yeah, Harry—he won the Triwizard Tournament!"

"Hermione knows more spells than anyone!"

"And she has the best grades!"

"But Harry killed You-Know-Who!"

Right now, Harry wanted to kill them all.

Ignoring his overly-loud housemates, he looked at Slytherins, who were gathered around Riddle. They weren't loud at all. They stood in silence, observing Gryffindors with condescending smirks on their faces.

Riddle wasn't looking at Gryffindors at all, though. He was too busy whispering something in Selwyn's ear. It looked obscenely intimate. Selwyn's pale face was flushed, his blue eyes glazed as he looked at Riddle.

Harry averted his gaze.

"Your five minutes are up," Frulli announced. "Champions, step forward."

Terry Boot left the crowd of Ravenclaws, accompanied by the applause of his housemates.

Anne Devero, a seventh year Hufflepuff, was another champion.

Harry looked at the Slytherins, expecting Riddle to step forward. He didn't. Instead, Selwyn did, looking very arrogant and confident.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Slytherins were up to something. Why would they choose that pretty boy over Riddle?

"We're waiting only for Gryffindors," Frulli said, raising her voice when Gryffindors continued arguing.

Slytherins started sneering and sniggering.

"Enough," Harry growled at his housemates. It came out louder than he expected and everyone shut up. Harry felt them stare at him in surprise. "I'm going." And he strode to the platform before anyone could protest. No one did.

Harry's lips twisted. Sometimes being the Saviour did have its advantages.

"Very well," Frulli said, smiling. "Today it will be Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, and Slytherin against Ravenclaw. Then the winners will duel each other. Boot and Selwyn, you're the first to go!" She hopped off the platform and motioned them to proceed.

They did.

Harry watched their duel with interest. Even though Terry was very good, pretty soon it became obvious that Selwyn was going to win. Harry wouldn't say Selwyn was that better than Terry; he simply fought more ruthlessly, not shying away from mild dark curses and some questionable Transfiguration spells.

The duel lasted three minutes, and by its end, Terry was barely able to move, his face bloody, his clothes half-burnt and his arm broken. Selwyn looked impeccable and very pleased with himself as he stepped off the duelling platform. His expression changed when he looked towards Riddle: like a lovesick dog wanting to be praised by its owner. Harry snorted. The only thing that was missing was a wagging tail.

Riddle simply nodded to Selwyn, his eyes cold, but the blond grinned widely, like he'd received the best praise in the world. Pathetic, Harry thought.

"Potter and Devero," Frulli called out.

Harry got onto the platform, determined to make it quick.

It didn't quite work out like that. He barely scraped a win because his concentration was shot to hell. He didn't know why; he'd felt perfectly fine before the duel.

"Harry!" Hermione grabbed him arm as soon as staggered off the platform.

"What the hell was that, mate?" It was like Ron's voice was coming from very far away. "You should have beaten her much easily! She's good, but she's not that good!"

Harry shook his head, trying to concentrate. "I don't know, Ron. I just couldn't focus. Still can't."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She waved her wand and gasped. "You're cursed!"

Harry went still. Then, he turned his head towards the Slytherins. They were smirking, though some of them were wearing disappointed expressions. They were probably disappointed that he'd managed to win at all.

Selwyn was grinning triumphantly, looking particularly smug.

And Harry saw red.

He knew it wasn't recommended to try ending the curse if one didn't know what curse it was, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care. "Finite Incantatem," he growled, waving his wand over himself, _willing_ it to work.

It did.

"Harry! It was too dangerous to—"

"Not now, Hermione," he said, climbing back onto the duelling platform.

He would show them. He'd show him.

Gripping his wand, he looked at Selwyn. Riddle was whispering something into his ear again, looking right at Harry—for the first time since their 'lesson.'

_Go ahead, teach your fuck-toy more dirty tricks,_ he thought viciously, looking right into Riddle's eyes. _I'll beat him anyway._

He averted his eyes from Riddle only when Selwyn climbed onto the platform.

They bowed to each other and, turning around, started to walk away.

"One, two—"

Harry whirled around, knowing that Selwyn wouldn't wait until 'three.' He was right.

He ducked from the red beam of light that had been heading in his direction. He recognized what it was: the nasty skin-burning curse favoured by Yaxley. Selwyn definitely wasn't going to play nice.

Well, neither was Harry.

Raising a strong shield, he let several spells bounce off of it, quickly considering and discarding ideas. He was extremely tempted to use the Sectumsempra curse but didn't want Riddle to think him unimaginative_,_ nor did he want to use a Dark spell.

Harry grinned, suddenly remembering the spell he had found this summer in the Blacks' library but hadn't had the chance to try out yet because it required a living target. Harry figured it was a variation of Serpensortia: aimed to scare, not hurt. It was perfect for the occasion.

Moving his wand in an intricate pattern, which was the hardest part of the spell, and _willing_ it to work, Harry shouted, "_Serpentis ingruo_!"

He felt a warm rush of power sharpening his senses, which was his first clue that something went wrong. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, _hundreds _of snakes appeared out of nowhere and, in the blink of the eye, attacked Selwyn.

Paling, Harry could only stare as Selwyn was completely covered with hundreds of hissing, writhing snakes. It only took seconds before shrieks and screams of horror filled the room.

Harry turned his head to the panicked crowd and found a single student who stood completely still in the middle of the chaos. He was neither panicking nor casting spells at the snakes.

Tom Riddle was looking right at him.

And he was smiling.


	5. The Dark Lord

A/N: Many thanks to those who have reviewed. I greatly appreciate your comments.

And please, keep in mind that everything Tom says should be taken with a grain of salt. He has no problem twisting the facts to suit his agenda.

* * *

**Chapter 5 **

**The Dark Lord**

So far, the day had been pretty disastrous even by Harry's standards.

Selwyn had been sent to St. Mungo's, twelve other students ended up in the school's hospital wing, and Gryffindor lost two hundred points they didn't yet have. Well, Professor Frulli _had _given him the promised fifty points for winning the duel, but the Headmistress immediately took them back. Harry wasn't sure who McGonagall was more furious with: Frulli or him. The Duelling Club was closed until further notice.

And McGonagall was about to tell the whole school that he had used a dark curse.

"You have left me with no choice, Potter," McGonagall said grimly, walking with him to the Great Hall. "There were over seventy witnesses. It is better if students find out the truth from me than from some dubious books they should not be reading." She gave him a pointed look.

Sighing, Harry wished the day was over.

The corridors were surprisingly empty, and Harry found out why when they entered the Great Hall. The entire student body seemed to be present, and the room was buzzing like a giant beehive. It was impossible to make out a word anyone was saying.

When students started noticing them, the conversations quieted down until a complete hush fell over the room.

"You may go to the Gryffindor table," McGonagall said quietly and Harry went, trying to ignore the blatant stares.

His footsteps sounded too loud in the quiet room as he made his way over to Ron and Hermione.

Ginny was nowhere to be seen, but it didn't surprise him: her friend Pamela was in the hospital wing and she was probably with her.

"Harry!" Hermione said as soon as he sat down next to her. "What were you—" She was cut off when McGonagall reached the Head Table and spoke.

"You have, no doubt, heard of the unfortunate incident that occurred this morning during the Duelling Club meeting. I am glad to inform you that the injured students will make full recoveries in a few days with the exception of Mr. Selwyn: he is to return to Hogwarts approximately in two weeks—"

"Is that true that Potter used a dark curse?" someone shouted from the Ravenclaw table.

Harry looked down at the table, feeling everyone's eyes on him.

"It is," McGonagall said and, next to him, Ron sucked a sharp breath in.

Low murmurs filled the room.

"I can't believe it!"

"Did you hear what he did to Selwyn? The poor bloke nearly died!"

"But he's Harry Potter! He can't be Dark! He defeated You-Know-Who!"

"Maybe he just didn't want the competition."

"Yeah, if he defeated You-Know-Who, he must be very powerful, too. And my dad told me all powerful wizards have an affinity to Dark Arts."

"Remember what he did to Justin five years ago? He ordered the snake to attack him! All Parselmouths are dark wizards!"

"That's bloody ridiculous! It's Harry Potter we're talking about."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes he hated being Harry Potter.

"However," McGonagall said, raising her voice. "Mr. Potter meant no harm. He did not know that the spell was dark—"

"I find it difficult to believe," a male voice said from the direction of the entrance.

Harry looked up and his stomach clenched at the sight of two unfamiliar wizards. The younger one was undoubtedly an Auror, and the other seemed to be some kind of Ministry official.

Silence fell again as the wizards walked towards the Head Table. McGonagall stood up, her lips pressed tight. "And you are?"

"Armadio Langley, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said the older wizard before gesturing to the Auror. "This is Auror Hendricks. We are here to speak to Harry Potter." He glanced around. "Is he here?"

Licking his lips, Harry stood up.

"Has anyone pressed charges?" McGonagall asked as Harry walked over.

Langley glanced at her before fixing his gaze on Harry. He inclined his head slightly. "Mr. Potter."

Acutely aware that everyone seemed to be listening in, Harry said calmly, "I already told the Headmistress everything I knew, and it wasn't much. I didn't know the spell was dark. I've got nothing else to add. Or are you here to arrest me?"

Langley looked somewhat uncomfortable. "No, not to arrest you, Mr. Potter. We are not accusing you of anything, as none of the injured students' families have pressed charges…yet. We are here because we have been informed about the incident by the St. Mungo's Hospital. For now, we simply need to ask you a few questions."

Harry nodded.

"Perhaps we should move to my office," McGonagall suggested.

"No," Harry said. "If Mr. Langley doesn't mind, I would like to be questioned here." At their surprised looks, he added, glancing at the onlookers, "I've got nothing to hide, and I don't want to repeat myself over and over." He figured it was better for everyone to hear it from him rather than for his words to be twisted through the grapevine.

The wizard glanced at the Auror before nodding. "We do not mind. In fact, we needed to question the witnesses in any case."

Sitting down, McGonagall waved her wand and the food disappeared from the Head Table. Auror Hendricks seated himself at the table before pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"State your full name," Langley said, taking a seat, as well.

Harry was left to be the only one standing. Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, he put his hands in his pockets. "Harry James Potter."

It was odd that the room full of students could be so quiet.

"Did you, or did you not, use the incantation _Serpentis Ingruo_ on Patrick Selwyn?"

"I did."

Langley's face was grim. "Did you know it was a dark curse?"

"No," Harry said. "I thought it was a spell similar to the Snake Summoning charm."

Langley studied him rather sceptically. "Mr. Potter, the Ministry banned that spell in 1629 and all information on the spell has been erased. You could not have learned it at Hogwarts. Well, I hope you could not have."

"Certainly not," McGonagall cut in indignantly.

"I learned it from a book," Harry said. "But not a Hogwarts book."

Langley frowned. "What book, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really remember. Just a random book I picked up in the Black Manor's library." The wizard looked confused, so he explained, "I inherited the Blacks' family manor when I turned seventeen, but for obvious reasons, the Ministry told me about it only after the war." He met the man's eyes. "Mr. Langley, I really didn't know the spell was so dangerous. I've never cast it before. The book simply said the spell would make a number of snakes appear and attack the target and that the snakes' venom wasn't deadly. I figured I'd summon a few snakes to scare Selwyn a bit; that's all."

If possible, Langley looked even grimmer. "Mr. Potter, it is not that I do not believe you, but the facts are against you. On average, that curse conjures ten snakes. From what I have heard, you conjured over two hundred. It means you repeatedly cast the spell to achieve such a number."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "I may have an explanation for this. I have already consulted a well-known Curse-breaker, William Weasley, and he told me that the number of snakes depended on the caster's magical strength. Those numbers are correct for an average wizard."

Langley stared at her. Then, he said slowly, "Headmistress, are you implying that Mr. Potter is twenty times more powerful than an average wizard?"

Another round of murmurs broke out. Harry grimaced, trying to ignore all the shocked stares and gasps. Bloody hell, that was the last thing he'd wanted when he asked to be questioned here.

McGonagall seemed to realize her mistake when Langley shifted his gaze to Harry again and his eyes were wary, almost fearful.

"I was implying no such thing," she said quickly, but the damage had already been done.

"I see," Langley said gravely, and the expression on his face oddly reminded Harry that of Dumbledore as he looked at the 11-year-old Tom Riddle.

And it also made him remember Riddle's words.

_The term 'Dark Magic' did not exist. Light wizards were simply too scared of the wizards who could cast such powerful spells. _

Harry hadn't believed him then—he knew better than to trust Riddle's words completely—but now, seeing the wary expressions, the fear lurking in Langley's eyes, he wasn't so sure anymore.

He chuckled harshly. "Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not the next Dark lord."

His words seemed to have the opposite effect, though: Langley's face darkened and the murmurs got only louder.

Bloody hell.

"This is ridiculous," Harry said with a huff. "Are we done here? Can I go?"

Langley eyed him. "Yes, Mr. Potter. We are done for today. The Ministry will contact you with the date of your hearing."

"Hearing?"

"That is a standard Ministry procedure," Langley said, still watching him warily. "Even if no one presses charges against you, you did break the law by using a banned curse. Not to mention that, thanks to your actions, a student ended up in the St. Mungo's Hospital."

"He used a Dark curse on me first," Harry said coldly.

Langley raised his eyebrows. "He did? You appear completely unharmed."

"Well, it's not my fault I'm a better duellist than him, is it?" Maybe some of Riddle's arrogance had rubbed off on him.

Langley didn't seem to like his tone. Pursing his lips, he looked at other students. "Can anyone confirm Mr. Potter's words? Has anyone heard Mr. Selwyn casting a dark curse on Mr. Potter?"

No one said anything.

"He cast it non-verbally," Harry said.

"Indeed?" Langley said and it was obvious he didn't believe him one bit. Merlin, Harry was itching to hex him. "Then how do you know it was a dark curse if it did not harm you and you did not hear the incantation? How did you recognize it, Mr. Potter? It is impossible." Langley narrowed his eyes. "Unless you have intimate knowledge of dark spells."

For fuck's sake. Langley was very lucky he had been exercising his magic lately. If his control had been worse…

"I guess I do have intimate knowledge of dark magic, Mr. Langley," he said flatly. "It was unavoidable: I'd been fighting it ever since I was a toddler. Voldemort and his Death Eaters educated me very thoroughly when they cursed me over and over." He stepped closer to Langley, lowering his voice. "I might not know the incantations or the names of the dark spells they used on me and my friends, but I know how they look, how they hurt, how they change the air, charging it with magic. Did you fight in the war, Mr. Langley? I don't think you did."

The wizard's face turned red with fury, or maybe with shame. "Auror Hendricks, we are done," he said tightly. "Good day, Headmistress. Mr. Potter, you will receive the Ministry's letter shortly."

"Can't wait," Harry muttered under his breath.

* * *

-#-

"I have a strange feeling of deja vu," Harry said not without sarcasm, glaring at the gawking Hufflepuffs and making them turn away.

"Honestly, Harry, it's your own fault," Hermione said with a huff. "I thought after the Sectumsempra incident, you'd know better than to use any spells without knowing what they did!"

"I knew perfectly well what the spell did, Hermione. How was I supposed to know that the number of snakes depended on the caster's magical strength?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "That little piece of information certainly didn't reassure anyone. I know Professor McGonagall was only trying to help, but she only made it worse. You conjured two hundred!"

Harry chuckled without humour. "Yeah, now the whole school thinks I'm the next Dark Lord."

"It's not funny, Harry Potter!" she said, glowering at some Ravenclaws who were unabashedly staring at him. They quickly turned away. "Now not only everyone knows that you used—successfully used, on your _first _try—a very powerful Dark spell, but they also found out how powerful you are! I don't even have to guess what would be on Daily Prophet's first page tomorrow!"

Harry grimaced.

"It's not like it'd be anything new," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's not that bad, mate. I'm sure they'll go back to hero-worshipping you in a week or two."

"That's comforting, Ron."

"Look on the bright side, mate: at least this time around, there's no Heir of Slytherin."

Harry nearly laughed out loud. If only Ron knew.

"Speaking of Slytherins, why do they hate me even more? Shouldn't they approve of me being a 'dark wizard'?"

"As far as I can tell, the opinion is divided," Malfoy said, coming from behind them. He started walking with them. "Some Slytherins dislike you even more because of Selwyn. Some Slytherins believe that you really are dark and hate you for betraying our cause. Then there are others who don't believe that you are dark but saw how powerful you are and don't like it. Then there are others who can't make up their mind and are just wary of you. But most of them mostly just hate you even more."

"That's reassuring," Harry said dryly.

Draco snorted. "You have no one to blame but yourself, Potter. What is that with you, duelling clubs and snakes?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest—the first incident was totally Malfoy's fault, after all—when he heard, "Harry!"

They stopped and waited for Ginny to catch up with them.

"How is your friend?" Harry asked as they resumed walking.

"She still feels a bit nauseous," Ginny replied. "But she'll be okay."

Harry couldn't help but notice that she hadn't taken his arm as she usually did. "I'm sorry."

Her lips formed a thin line but she nodded curtly.

Harry opened his mouth to ask if she was angry with him when he saw a group of Slytherins coming their way, heading into the opposite direction. Riddle was among them.

The Slytherins were scowling at him but did nothing, probably because Riddle looked mildly amused rather than angry.

When they passed each other, Riddle caught his arm and leaned in to his ear. "How is your plan to be _average _working out, pet?" he murmured quietly, so that no one could hear but Harry.

"Gloating, Tom?" Harry said, looking Riddle in the eyes. He flicked his wand, erecting a privacy ward around them—just in case. He couldn't deny that he loved how easily the magic bent to his will.

A corner of Riddle's lips curled up. "'Gloating' is such an undignified word, but it's always good to be proven right."

Harry's lips twisted. "Doesn't it bother you that they think _I'm_ the Dark Lord in the making? That I'm more powerful than you, and that's why I could defeat you?"

Riddle's expression didn't change, but somehow Harry just _knew_ that it did bother him. Riddle raised his eyebrows. "Why would it bother me? You and I know the truth."

"And the truth is?"

Riddle leaned in again. His hand moved to Harry's biceps. "The truth is," he said, his lips almost brushing Harry's ear. "I am superior to you and always will be."

Harry felt something dark and ugly rearing up inside, something that fairly demanded that he immediately cut the arrogant bastard back down to size.

Before Harry could say anything, Riddle released him and walked away, ignoring the bemused expressions on the other Slytherins' faces.

Lifting the privacy ward, Harry accidentally caught Rosier's eyes. Sebastian gave him a long, calculating look before following Riddle.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked as soon as the Slytherins were out of the earshot.

Harry shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

"I didn't know you even knew Vergne," Ron said, frowning at him.

"Not well," Harry said and started walking again. "We're just passing acquaintances."

"What were you talking about, then?" Hermione asked. "And why did you erect the privacy ward?"

"Nothing important."

"Hmm," Malfoy said.

Harry ignored him.

"Hmm," Malfoy said again.

"_Yes_, Malfoy?" Harry said, not looking at him.

"I just find it a bit strange, Potter," Draco drawled. "For mere acquaintances, Vergne looked pretty comfortable in your personal space. Hell, he was practically all over you. And the strangest thing is, you _let_ him. You looked pretty cosy to me."

Harry chuckled. "What? Don't be ridiculous."

"Malfoy is exaggerating, but he's right," Hermione said, her eyebrows furrowed. "The way Vergne was touching your arm… It looked…" She seemed uncomfortable.

"Proprietary," Malfoy suggested.

"I was going to say 'possessive,' but essentially, yes," Hermione said.

Malfoy eyed him. "I had never seen Vergne publicly touch anyone. Everyone knows better than to try."

Harry laughed slightly. "Blimey, why are you looking at me like that? Shouldn't you be asking Vergne? I have no bloody clue what's going on in his head." He looked at Ron for some support, but Ron only shrugged, looking confused.

And Ginny… Ginny was silent, her face pale and shoulders tensed up.

She was studying Harry as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"What?" he said, perhaps a bit defensively.

"Harry," she said. "Did you really learn that awful spell from a book? Tell me _he _has nothing to do with it."

"He doesn't," Harry said, glancing at Ron, Hermione and Malfoy before pulling Ginny aside. The last thing he needed now was for Hermione and Ron to find out about Riddle. He had enough problems to deal with.

"Then what were you talking about?" Ginny asked, putting her hands on her hips and fixing him with a hard look. "You _blushed_, Harry. When he leaned to your ear and whispered something, I saw your neck turn red."

Looking away, Harry wet his lips. "He was gloating and it made me angry, Gin; that's all. Is the interrogation over?"

She stepped closer to him and, taking his hand, lowered her voice. "Look at me, Harry," she said, looking at him intently. "Look me in the eyes and swear to me you haven't been…associating with him."

Harry felt his pulse pick up.

"I have not been associating with him," he said, looking her right in the eyes.

She smiled, looking relieved, and hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for ever doubting you," she said into his neck. "I know you'd never lie to me."

Harry bit his lip, staring blankly at the wall.


	6. Imbroglio

A/N: I would like to remind everyone that this story is for mature audiences. Be warned in advance that this fic will contain M/M sex scenes, and some of them might get a little kinky, so if that bothers you, please do not read.

And I would like to thank the amazing people who have taken the time to review. It means a lot to me.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**Imbroglio**

**-#-**

**HARRY POTTER: THE SAVIOUR OR THE DARK LORD?**

By Rita Skeeter, the famed author of the _Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_, and _Snape: Scoundrel or Saint._

_My dear and loyal readers, I was deeply shocked by the tragic news that reached me from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry yesterday. It appears Harry Potter, our own Boy-Who-Lived, the Defeater of the Dark Lord You-Know-Who, used a Dark Curse on one of his classmates, severely injuring him and forty other students!_

_Yes, my readers, this is all true! I am as appalled as you are._

_The curse in question shall not be named, as This Author is a lawful citizen of the Wizarding Britain. However, I can report to you that the aforementioned curse is one of the most terrible Dark Curses that have ever been invented. I have been told by a reliable source from the Auror Department that the curse conjures ten venomous snakes that attack the target, but apparently, the number of snakes depends on the wizard's magical strength. Imagine my surprise upon hearing that Harry Potter conjured over two hundred!_

_Yes, my readers, that is right: over two hundred. I shudder at the mere thought._

_It is also must be noted that historically, powerful wizards have an affinity to the Dark Arts. After all, it is a well-known fact that Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter's mentor, dabbled in the Dark Arts when he was having an affair with the Dark Lord Grindelwald. _

_Now, This Author does not wish to doubt our Saviour, but one wonders: is he a Saviour at all? _

_Could it be possible that when Harry Potter destroyed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he had other, less than altruistic, motives? _

_A Hogwarts student, who wished to remain unnamed, shared his thoughts with me on the matter:_

_"How do we know that Potter didn't kill You-Know-Who because he wanted to be the Dark Lord himself?"_

_Indeed, how?_

_*For more information on Harry Potter, page 4_

_*For more information on the Ministry decree of 1629, page 9_

_*For more information on Dumbledore's affair with Grindelwald, page 12_

* * *

**-#-**

Harry conjured a rabbit and slashed it with Sectumsempra.

Then another.

And another.

He wasn't in the mood for healing anything today.

Bloody Prophet. Even though he had expected it, actually seeing Skeeter's stupid article on the front page was another thing entirely. And seeing the fear, wariness, and distrust on other students' faces made him sick and angry. Apparently, their trust in him was still so fickle that they easily went from hero-worshipping him to suspecting him of being a Dark Lord.

And he couldn't help but resent them. Hadn't he done enough? Hadn't he saved them all? Why couldn't they leave him alone? It was the least they could do.

_But they aren't that wrong, are they?_ _Considering what spell you're practising in the Salazar Slytherin's chamber_.

Trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head, Harry slashed yet another rabbit.

"I see you have been busy."

Harry didn't turn around. A part of him almost expected Riddle.

"I guess," he said, surveying dozens of dead rabbits. The blood was everywhere, but his stomach stopped a few days ago. He found that he wasn't as sickened killing something if he didn't understand their dying cries.

"Quite impressive," Riddle said, walking forward. "By the way, the spell you used on Patrick was most intriguing. I have heard of it but never encountered it before."

"Figures you'd find the spell that nearly killed someone intriguing. And aren't you worried about your fuck-toy?"

Riddle turned his head to him. He raised an eyebrow. "Why would I be? No one is irreplaceable."

Harry shook his head. "Do you even have a heart?"

"Of course I do, and I'm quite fond of it."

Harry snorted.

Then, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What are you even doing here, Tom? Come to gloat again?"

"It is not gloating if it's true," Riddle said, watching him. "Have you seen the looks on their faces? Their fear? I told you: they fear powerful magic and powerful wizards because they are weak, not because there is anything wrong with dark magic."

Harry laughed.

"What is so humorous?"

"Come on, enough. Do you really think I'm so stupid that I can't see through you?" He turned to Riddle, who was frowning.

Harry smiled at him. It wasn't a very nice smile. "I really hate to burst your bubble, but you aren't nearly as cunning as you fancy yourself to be. I knew all along you were manipulating me, Tom. I went along mostly just to find out what you were up to." Harry shrugged. "I'm still not sure about your motives—I don't know why, exactly, you want to turn me into a dark wizard, but I knew that was your aim all along. All that stuff that you said…" Harry let out a small laugh. "You couldn't care less that the Ministry robbed other wizards of their heritage when they banned dark spells. Everything you said had one purpose: to make me think that dark wizards are misunderstood, that dark magic is okay."

Riddle's face was expressionless.

Harry walked to him. "I see you're surprised. And you don't like being surprised." He stepped closer. "Did you think you were so much smarter than me? Rather arrogant of you." Harry chuckled bitterly. "I used to be a pawn in the hands of two master manipulators: Dumbledore and Voldemort. Compared to them, you're nothing but a little boy, Tom."

Riddle's face went pale with fury.

"Hell, you _are_ a little boy," Harry said, taking Riddle's chin in his hand and studying his young face mockingly. He stroked his thumb along Tom's jawline. "Look at you. You're just a teenager. No matter how smart, powerful and ambitious you are, you're just a pale shade of Voldemort. I used to think you were a young Voldemort, but I know you a bit better now and I know I was wrong. Well, I still think you're a sick, cruel, overambitious bastard, but you're nowhere as devious as him. You lack his knowledge and experience." Harry knew he was enjoying it far too much but he couldn't stop. Something dark within him was stirring to life, urging him to bring Riddle to his knees. He leaned in, bringing their faces inches apart. "You're not that _different_ from us _average_ people, Tom. You're not a Dark Lord."

Riddle sneered, eyes flashing. "Is that what you tell yourself when you wank thinking of me?"

Harry went rigid before letting out a laugh and stepping away. "You're hilarious."

Riddle gave a cold and patronizing laugh. "Am I?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Seriously, you need an ego check."

Cocking his head, Riddle eyed his face for a moment looking away with a smile. "Whatever you say, pet. By the way, you are correct: I'm not Voldemort. I am better." A look of disgust crossed his features. "The more I learn about my counterpart, the less I'm impressed. From what I have gathered, he was quite insane, or at the very least, he was unable to think rationally, letting emotions and whims rule his actions. Rather pathetic."

"Emotions? Voldemort wouldn't recognize an emotion if it hit him in the face."

"Anger is an emotion," Tom said disdainfully. "As is the desire to have revenge. If he wasn't so obsessed with killing you and concentrated on the war, he would have won the war easily. If he was not so fixated on killing you personally, you would have been long dead. Any of the Death Eaters who taught at Hogwarts could have done it when you expected it the least."

"There was a prophecy."

Riddle scoffed. "Yes, the infamous prophecy. Had he been able to think rationally, he would not have paid it much mind. Do you think every prophecy in the Hall of Prophecy has been fulfilled? Of course not. How do we even know that the prophecy was referring to the Dark Lord _Voldemort_? His name wasn't mentioned, and neither was yours. For all we know, it might have been referring to a completely different Dark Lord who will come to power in a few centuries from now. Only because he acted on the prophecy, it focused on him—and you. Prophecies are fickle things. If he ignored the prophecy after his resurrection, there was still a chance it would shift to another Dark Lord, but he didn't. That was another mistake—one I would have never committed."

Harry averted his gaze. Had Voldemort been as sane as Riddle, his parents would have been alive. Sirius might have been alive. Would they still win the war, though?

_Would it matter?_

Shoving the traitorous thought away, Harry conjured another rabbit and slashed its neck. "If you're saying you don't resent me at all for killing Voldemort, I don't believe you. You were touchy about it when we first met."

"I wasn't 'touchy' about it," Riddle said, sounding affronted. "I was… understandably disappointed by my counterpart's defeat in the hands of a teenager."

Harry just snorted and returned to slashing rabbits.

Conjure, kill. Conjure, kill. Conjure, kill.

It was almost relaxing, even though a part of him was bewildered how he could be so unconcerned in Riddle's company. When he thought about it, it was weird. Only a week ago, he was uneasy when he came here with a young version of Voldemort. Now he had no qualms about turning his back to Tom, and he didn't think it was only because he had stopped thinking of him as Voldemort. No, it was something else. He just felt more confident, more…invincible.

Harry frowned. It probably had something to do with dark magic he had been practising. He wondered whether it was something to worry about, but after a moment, he shrugged it off. As far as side effects went, it was pretty harmless.

"Care for a little game?" Riddle said suddenly, pulling him away from his thoughts.

Harry glanced at him. "What game?"

Riddle was looking at the snake statue he stood beside. "I have always been curious about the power a parselmouth holds over snakes."

"What do you mean? Parseltongue is just a language."

"Your lack of knowledge is grating," Riddle said with a curl of lips. "Parseltongue is not just a language; it's a magical language. Humans are not meant to speak to snakes. A muggle would never learn it even if he spent decades trying to master it. And since it is a magical language, every time you speak it, your words are charged with magic. If you put enough will into your words, it's as good as compulsion."

Harry considered it. "And what are you suggesting?"

"I have never had any problem making snakes obey me. However, being the only parselmouth, I could not test its limits. I have always been curious to see how snakes would choose whom to obey if they are ordered by two parselmouths to do different things."

"And you want us to try it," Harry said, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes. I will conjure a snake, and we will both try to gain its loyalty. The one who succeeds wins the game."

"And wins what?"

Riddle's eyes were gleaming as he met Harry's. "The winner can demand anything from the loser."

Harry tore his eyes from Tom and cleared his throat slightly. "I'll do it only if I know you wouldn't ask for anything unreasonable. I'm not giving you my dad's cloak or jumping off the Astronomy tower."

Riddle smirked. "Where is your Gryffindor courage, darling?"

Merlin, he hated Riddle's stupid little endearments, but he knew if he told Tom to stop using them, he'd only use them more often. "And if we do this, no way in hell I'm letting you conjure a snake; I'll transfigure something."

"My, aren't we paranoid. But very well." Riddle paused, making a show of thinking. Harry didn't buy it for a moment. Riddle likely already knew what he wanted when he had suggested the game. "If I win, you will have to read a book of my choice and practice any spells you might encounter in the book."

Harry couldn't say it was unexpected. He'd already had an inkling it would have something to do with the Dark Arts.

Well… Knowing a few more dark spells wouldn't make him a dark wizard, and he was curious what book Riddle would pick out for him.

Besides, he had no intention to lose.

"Fine," Harry said and nearly took it back when Riddle's eyes flashed with triumph."But if I win, you'll tell me everything you know about how you ended up here. Under Veritaserum."

"Using Veritaserum without the Ministry's approval is illegal," Riddle said without inflection, but Harry knew him well enough to notice a displeased flash in his eyes.

Harry gave him a look. "So are the Dark Arts books."

Riddle was silent for a few moments before finally nodding. "Very well. You may proceed."

Harry pointed his wand at one of the dead rabbits and concentrated. He was quite good at Transfiguration but transfiguring something into a living being had never been his forte. It didn't matter, though. He couldn't let Riddle conjure it. Conjured snakes were always somewhat bonded to the will of the wizard who conjured them.

It didn't surprise him when the snake turned out… not impressive.

"What a pathetic snake," Riddle said before kneeling in front of it and purring, _"Hello, beautiful. I have never seen such a gorgeous, strong snake like you."_

Harry shot him a look. "I can't believe you."

Riddle only smirked at him and returned to hissing sweet nothings to the snake.

"You're such a two-faced bastard," Harry said.

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "Aren't we all?"

Harry smiled despite himself.

_"Don't listen to him,_" he hissed, kneeling next to the snake, too. _"He's lying to you."_

The snake seemed confused, looking from one to the other.

Riddle stroked between its eyes._ "Do not listen to him, gorgeous_," he hissed. "_He clearly cannot see your beauty the way I can. Attack him. Now."_

Harry stroked the snake's skin a bit lower than Riddle, their fingers brushing. _"He lies,"_ he said. "_Don't listen to him. Listen to me. He's not your master. I am." _Harry looked at Riddle's neck above the green tie. "_See his pale human neck? Bite him on the neck. He deserves it." _

The snake slithered up towards Riddle's neck but stopped when Tom ordered, _"Don't move. You will not hurt me." _Harry felt the other boy's magic flare up. "_You are mine," _Riddle hissed harshly, eyes on Harry. _"Come to me, my pet."_

Harry knew he should say something. But his mouth was dry and nothing came out.

The snake slithered away from Harry and coiled itself around Riddle's neck. _"Yours, Master." _

Tearing his eyes away, Harry stood up quickly.

"I guess you win," he said, clearing his throat. "Though it was hardly fair. You're a born parselmouth."

"And you are a sour loser, Harry," Riddle said with a superior smirk, getting to his feet as well. "I will give you the book later." Unwinding the snake from his neck, he threw it on the floor and flicked his wand. "_Hlaera_."

The snake's agonized hisses rang in Harry's ears long after Riddle was gone.

* * *

-#-

Harry returned to his dorm even in a worse mood than he'd been in.

Flopping down on his bed, he buried his face in his pillow, trying not to think of the Dark Arts, Riddle, snakes, Riddle's neck, Riddle's eyes, his skin under his hands—

Damn it all. His erection wasn't going anywhere.

Harry groaned in annoyance, angry with his stupid, hormonal teenage body. It wasn't like he suddenly liked Riddle or anything, because he most certainly didn't. The cruelty, the arrogance, the utter lack of morals lurking behind the beautiful, intelligent façade sickened Harry to the core. But the problem was, his dick didn't seem to care.

Ever since that day in the library, when he first thought of Riddle's mouth on his dick, the thought kept resurfacing in his head, a rather abstract thought, but it was there nonetheless, pestering him endlessly. And the more arrogant Riddle acted, the harder he wanted to fuck his pretty sneering mouth.

Merlin, Riddle would kill him if he ever found out Harry entertained such degrading thoughts about him. If Ginny didn't kill him first.

But thinking wasn't cheating, was it? He still loved Ginny. They would marry and have a nice house full of laughter and happiness. They would have three beautiful kids; they'd even picked out their names: Albus Severus, James Sirius, and Lily.

This…this sickening want wouldn't change it. It wasn't like he wanted to hold Riddle's hand or anything—just to use him, fuck into him, and make him beg.

It meant nothing.

It changed nothing.

It was just a harmless fantasy, until he decided to act on it.

And he never would.


	7. Interlude I: Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

**Interlude I: **

**Sanctimonia Vincet Semper**

"Malfoy, give that to me."

Draco sneered at the first year who was seated across the table. "Get it yourself. I'm not a house elf."

The boy had the nerve to smirk at him. "It's not like you're wanted here. At least make yourself useful."

"You're lucky we are in the Great Hall, you brat," Draco snapped, before stabbing his fork into his salad.

Merlin, how utterly humiliating.

Sometimes he wondered why he'd even bothered to return to school. It wasn't like anyone would hire a Malfoy even if he got all Outstandings on his N.E.W.T.s. It certainly wasn't worth the humiliation he was put through on a daily basis.

"Oh, look: Potter," the little girl to his left said to another little girl. Draco never bothered to learn their names, despite eating with them every day. No matter what, he was a Malfoy and it was beneath him to associate with first years. He still had some pride left.

In fact, pride might well be the only thing he still had.

For the lack of having anything better to do, Draco looked towards the door. Potter was walking into the Great Hall, holding the Weaslette's hand.

Draco cringed. He didn't know what was up with Potter lately, but he was way more touchy-feely with his girlfriend than he used to be: always touching her, embracing her, and kissing her(_ugh_) in public. In Draco's opinion, their lovesick behaviour was completely revolting and inappropriate, but most of the school seemed to think the opposite. Even the Daily Prophet changed its tune from "Dark Lord Potter" to "Potter: Dark Lord or Boy-Who-Loved?"

If Draco didn't know better, he would think it was a devious plan on Potter's part to make people forget about him dabbling in the Dark Arts. But of course, Potter wasn't capable of devising such a clever plan.

"That's just pathetic, Malfoy," a much hated voice said cheerfully from behind him. "Still mooning over Potter I see."

Taking a deep breath, Draco turned around. "Bugger off, Rosier," he said coldly, stabbing his salad with his fork again and imagining it was Rosier's stupid face. He refused to blush. Yes, it might be true that he used to have a thing for Potter when he was twelve (and thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen), but his crush was over around the time the Dark Lord gave him the task to kill Dumbledore. After that, Potter was the last thing on his mind. Really.

Draco didn't even know how Rosier knew of his crush on Potter; he was positive he hadn't been obvious. A Malfoy was never obvious.

"Don't you dare to ignore me, you little shit," Rosier said, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up at him. Rosier's ever-present smile was gone, his eyes reflecting nothing but pure hatred.

Draco had no idea why Rosier hated him so much, really. He'd never done anything to him! Well, he _might_ have made fun of him for his hand-me-down clothes and wizarding supplies when they were kids, but it wasn't like Rosier was the only target of his famous Malfoy wit.

"What do you want?" Draco said haughtily. "And shouldn't you be busy kissing Vergne's arse?" He smirked viciously, enjoying the way Rosier's cobalt eyes darkened with anger. "By the way, I knew you didn't have it in you to be Slytherin's leader. You were overthrown within two weeks by a _newbie_. That's just pathetic—"

"Detention with me. Immediately." Grabbing his arm, Rosier jerked him to his feet and practically dragged him out of the Great Hall.

"You can't give me detention for telling the truth! Let go of me, you prat!" Draco demanded furiously, trying to free himself. But it was useless: Rosier was much taller and stronger than him; the brute. He always hated it about Rosier, but now he didn't have Crabbe and Goyle to stop Rosier from attacking him like a filthy muggle. "Let go of me this instant!"

"You never shut up, do you?" Rosier dragged him down the hall, round a corner and shoved him into a broom closet, slamming the door shut behind them. "You still act like you own the school, but you are _nothing_."

Rosier shoved him against the wall so hard that Draco cried out in pain.

"You brute!"

Rosier had the nerve to laugh. "What, Princess?" He petted Draco's hair mockingly. "Did I ruin your pretty hair?"

Draco glared up at him, trying to free himself from his grasp. "What do you want from me? Make it quick."

Rosier's grip on Draco's hair tightened. "From you? Nothing. I just wanted to save you from embarrassing yourself and our house. Your crush on Potter is as pathetic and obvious as ever."

Draco felt himself flush—with anger, of course. He scoffed. "Please. I don't believe you. And I don't have a crush on Potter, but even if I did, it would be none of your business. Now release me at once. Vergne might need you to lick his arse clean."

"I'm not so easily insulted, so stop bringing Vergne into the conversation." Rosier's blue eyes stayed deadly serious even though his lips formed a smile. "Besides, I have plans for Tom."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "My, my. Aren't you afraid I'd tell him that you are planning to stab him in the back?"

"Vergne is no fool, so he's likely perfectly aware of that." The expression on Rosier's face sent a shiver down Draco's spine. "His mistake is, he thinks too highly of himself and too little of others. Speaking of Vergne, if I were you, I'd forget about Potter. Tom is ruthless when it comes to his possessions and he seems rather fixated on Potter." Rosier's eyes were gleaming. "And it might be something to exploit."

Draco smiled at him sweetly. "I really, really hope you will be stupid enough to go against Vergne and he'll crush you like a bug you are—"

Rosier's lips smashed down on his own.

It took Draco a few moments to process what was going on. Rosier was kissing him. _Rosier _was kissing him.

"Wanted to shut you up for ages," Rosier said hoarsely before forcefully shoving his tongue down Draco's throat.

That was, hands down, the worst kiss in Draco's life. Feeling Rosier's hands groping his body was even more disgusting. Ugh, how he hated him.

But Draco wasn't Slytherin for nothing. That was why he didn't immediately push Rosier away and hex his balls off. Because if the bastard had a thing for him—and if his hard-on was any indication, he did—Draco could use it. He would use Rosier to climb back to the top. And when he did... he would get revenge on the prick. He would crush him, throw him away like a used tissue —after telling him that he'd used him.

Yes, this was _perfect_.

Mentally patting himself on the back, Draco sucked on Rosier's tongue, making the idiot groan and grind his dick against his stomach.

It wasn't whoring; no. He was just a Malfoy through and through.

Everyone knew their family motto was _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper__—_Purity Will Always Conquer—but very few knew it wasn't the full motto. The point wasn't purity.

The full Malfoy motto had the words _Quocumque Modo. _

_B__y any means necessary._


	8. Prey and Predator

**A/N:** Many, many thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. I greatly appreciate your support and feedback.

**Warnings: **sexual content (slash and some het), dubious consent, morally questionable behaviour (of both Tom and Harry). You have been warned. Read at your own risk.

* * *

**####**

**Chapter 8:**

**Prey and Predator**

Putting her head on his shoulder, Ginny entwined their fingers. "So what about the Ministry? I saw you received the letter this morning."

"The hearing is in a month," Harry said, watching the Ravenclaw team train. It was an unusually warm October day, with blue skies, bright sunshine and relatively light wind. Good day for practice. "I owled Kingsley for advice. He says Wizengamot members are very influenced by public opinion, so if I get the media on my side, I have nothing to worry about."

Ginny sighed, squeezing his hand. "I wish I could help."

Harry pressed a kissed to her hair. "You're already helping just being with me."

Looking pleased, she sighed contentedly, wrapping an arm around Harry's waist.

They fell silent for a while, watching the Ravenclaws.

"Can I tell you something?" Ginny said after a few minutes. "Just don't be mad, alright?"

He glanced at her curiously. "Sure, Gin."

She looked away, chewing on her lip. "I thought you stopped loving me. You were so cold and angry all the time, and you would never shut up about _him_. It made me so angry that I even thought about breaking up with you." She laughed a little. "Yes, it was stupid of me."

Harry looked down. "I'm sorry for acting like a git, Ginny. You know I love you—"

"Potter."

They both turned their heads towards the voice.

A tiny Slytherin girl—probably a first or a second year—stood before them.

"Yes?" Harry said. He got a bad feeling all of a sudden.

She pulled something out of her robes. A book. "I was asked to return this to you. I was told it was yours."

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry took it.

Son of a bitch.

"What is the meaning of this, Harry?" Ginny said tightly, staring at the book.

There was a picture of a naked blonde on the cover.

_How to Conjure a Pleasure Girl of Your Own_

Harry was going to kill him.

"It's just someone's sick joke," he said quickly with a laugh. "Do you really believe I'm into conjured sex dolls?"

She pursed her lips. "Then why are you blushing?"

"I'm blushing because it's ridiculous!" He stood up. "Come on, Ginny, you can't honestly believe that! Besides, conjuring animated sex dolls is illegal!"

She narrowed her eyes. "How do you even know that if you were never interested in conjuring one?"

"I can't bloody believe it," Harry bit out, raking a hand through his hair. "I've heard of them because Seamus wanted to conjure a doll in our fifth year."

"Seamus."

"Yes, _Seamus_."

She pursed her lips. "I don't believe you. Do you think I don't know you're angry at me for wanting to wait until marriage?"

"Bloody hell, what does it have to do with anything?"

Ginny got to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. "I know you want sex, Harry."

"Of course I do! I'm a healthy bloke. But it doesn't mean I'm so desperate that I'll conjure a sex doll!"

She glared at him, her bottom lip wobbling. "How do I know you aren't? I know all about the muggle sluts you slept with before we got back together!" She laughed bitterly, seeing his expression. "What, you thought I didn't know about that? You thought I didn't know what you did when you escaped into the Muggle world after the war? I know all you did was drinking, clubbing and picking up sluts!"

Harry looked away. "It doesn't matter now," he said uncomfortably, grimacing. "Look...I was in a strange state of mind back then. Nothing made sense with Voldemort gone. I wasn't sure what to do—what people expected from me…all those looks, the funerals, my erratic magic…It just got too much, Ginny." He met her eyes. "But I got over it, I promise."

She huffed, hugging herself. "I don't believe you."

Harry clenched his jaw. "You know what? Think whatever you want. Find me when you realize how ridiculous you're being."

He strode away towards the castle, ignoring her angry 'Harry!'

Honestly. Girls.

He almost reached the castle when he realized he was still clutching the ridiculous book in his hand. Coming to an abrupt halt, he stared at it.

Why would Riddle give him such a silly, idiotic book anyway? Riddle despised silliness.

Harry opened the book, but it contained exactly what it was promising on the cover: a guide how to conjure a sex doll.

Flipping the book shut again, he examined the cover. There was a tattoo of a snake on the girl's hip.

After a moment of thought, Harry hissed, _"Reveal yourself_."

The cover of the book changed to dark blue. It had no title, but the author's name made him stare.

_Rowena Ravenclaw_.

* * *

-#-

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the book.

It was a slow read because it was written in Old English, but soon enough, it became pretty obvious that Rowena was no "good" witch. The book made his old perceptions of the Hogwarts Founder shatter.

Apparently, Rowena hadn't believed in good or evil. The only difference between her and Slytherin, as far as Harry could tell, was that Salazar believed in power, while Rowena believed in knowledge, but to her, it mattered very little what kind of knowledge it was.

She had written down spells for manipulating emotions, planting ideas and thoughts, wiping out memories and replacing them with false ones, and many, many others. There were numerous compulsion and confounding charms, different types of Legilimency and Occlumency, and...

She had created the Imperius Curse.

Rowena Ravenclaw, a highly respected Hogwarts Founder, the witch who was said to be the most brilliant witch of the millennia, was the creator of one of the Unforgivables.

It was mind-boggling.

And the thing that bothered Harry most was that she hadn't been an evil person at all. She came out as a brilliant witch who was fascinated with magic in all its forms, and reading her book, she almost made him believe that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the Imperius Curse and compulsion spells. She made it sound like if one had the skill to perform such complicated pieces of magic, they deserved nothing but praise for their accomplishment.

It made him uneasy…and relived.

Sighing, Harry righted his glasses on his nose and turned the page.

He tensed, seeing a piece of parchment with a very familiar handwriting on it.

_Meet me tonight at 9 o'clock. Same place. And before you even think about not coming, remember, pet: you lost and now it is time to pay._

_T.M.R_

* * *

-#-

The most sickening thing was Harry couldn't even honestly say that he didn't want to go. Yes, he didn't want to practise more dark magic, and he knew the right thing to do was to avoid Riddle—which was something he had been successfully doing for a week—but a part of him was…excited.

His magic was excited too, buzzing and surging under his skin. Apparently it rather liked the idea of doing more dark spells. Harry wondered whether he should be worried. It hadn't escaped his attention that lately, the spells he practised felt too easy and boring, leaving him unsatisfied and wanting more.

Riddle wasn't in the main chamber.

Hearing strange noises coming from the adjoining room, Harry frowned and headed there.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he entered the room.

Riddle was sitting in the armchair, his white shirt unbuttoned, though otherwise mostly clothed, as far as Harry could see.

And he had a girl in his lap. A very naked blonde girl in his lap, who was...

Harry's mouth fell open.

Riddle lifted his gaze slowly and looked right at him.

"Good evening, Harry," he said pleasantly, as though he wasn't _having sex_ in front of Harry—and in the Chamber of Secrets, no less. There was so much wrong with it that Harry didn't even know where to start.

The girl paid Harry no attention and kept moving up and down, as if Harry wasn't bloody there.

"Who the hell is it?" he gritted out finally. "What is she doing here?"

"This is Megan Burke, a seventh year Hufflepuff," Riddle said in a conversational tone.

Harry glared at him. "What the hell is she doing in the chamber? It's supposed to be secret! If you need to get your rocks off, you can bloody do it in your dorm!"

Riddle raised a dark eyebrow. "I did not know you cared so much about Salazar's chamber, pet."

Harry glowered at him.

Riddle smiled, looking vaguely amused. "Don't you worry, I will Obliviate her," he said carelessly before looking back at the girl with obvious displeasure. "Faster. And do try squeezing me with your inner muscles. You are disgustingly loose. Whore."

The girl made no sound of protest and just started riding Riddle faster. Harry could only stare in disbelief. Something was off. There was something very fishy going on.

Slowly, he walked over to the armchair and looked at the girl's face. His jaw dropped when he saw the girl's distant, passive expression. "You Imperio'ed her!"

Riddle chuckled, the sound low and husky. "So?"

"_So_?" Harry had no words. When he finally managed to speak, what came out of his mouth wasn't what he meant to say. "Why would you do that? It's not like you'd have any trouble picking up a girl."

"You are correct. But this way is more fun."

"You're sick," Harry said, shaking his head. "Totally crazy. This is rape, you sick bastard. End the spell and let her go. Now!"

Riddle laughed.

Harry whipped his wand out and pressed it against Riddle's throat. "Let her go. And why are you laughing?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry. Look at her. Does she look like she is not enjoying herself? Just _listen_. She's dripping wet. I cannot exactly order her to enjoy it."

Harry felt his face grow hot when he realized that Riddle was right. "So what? Are you implying that she doesn't mind being Imperio'ed?"

Riddle shrugged carelessly. "Who knows? And I can't say I particularly care. But she is fucking me out of her own will. Initially, she wasn't under the Imperius Curse. I simply decided to...make things more interesting when she proved that she could not follow simple instructions."

"You're insane. I'm telling McGonagall. She'll send you right to Azkaban, where you belong. You used an Unforgivable on another student!"

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "So? Some of the spells that you cast recently would get you into trouble, as well. Into more trouble than you already are."

Pushing his wand harder into Riddle's neck, Harry leaned down and hissed, "Are you threatening me?"

Riddle's dark eyes were a bit unfocused when they met Harry's—no doubt he was enjoying the girl, too. "No, not threatening," he said, putting a hand on Harry's nape and stroking it. Harry shivered. "Just _reminding _you, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against Harry's face. "That you are no better than me."

"No," Harry whispered.

"_Yes_," Riddle hissed, brushing his lips against Harry's lightly.

"Don't fucking touch me."

"No?" Riddle said against his mouth, blunt nails scraping Harry's nape hard.

"No," Harry said and bit Riddle's bottom lip savagely. The other boy groaned and shuddered against him before going completely still, and Harry realized that he'd just come.

Shocked, he staggered back, staring at Riddle with wide eyes.

Tom looked relaxed, his eyes heavy-lidded and cheekbones slightly flushed. He looked...fucked out, even though he was still mostly clothed.

"Get off me, you whore," he told the girl, and she complied. "And put your clothes on."

With a flick of his wand, Riddle cleaned himself and zipped up. He didn't button up his shirt, though.

"You were somewhat correct: I should not have brought her into my Ancestor's chamber," he said, raising his eyes to Harry. "However, it was unavoidable, because you needed a target for practicing spells, and I had no desire to be one. Hence I brought her here."

"And you decided to fuck her just to kill some time," Harry said, his voice tight with some ugly emotion he couldn't quite identify.

"Precisely."

Harry scoffed. "You know, Tom, thanks. I started forgetting that you're a psychopath. Thanks for the reminder." He glanced at the girl. "Release her from the curse and make her leave."

Riddle tapped his wand against his lips, mock-thoughtful. "After all the trouble I went through to get her here, it would be such a waste. She has her uses yet." His lips curled up. "By the way, I have forgotten to ask how the dear Ginevra liked the book." Riddle smirked slightly, seeing Harry's expression. "Why this face? I take it she did not appreciate it. Pity."

Pressing his lips together, Harry studied him for a moment before stepping closer. Putting a hand on the back of Riddle's armchair, he leaned down to his face. "Why, Tom? Are you jealous?"

Riddle's expression turned unreadable. "Jealousy is for insecure fools. And why would I be jealous?"

Watching his face, Harry said, "Hermione thinks you have a thing for me."

Riddle's expression didn't change. "Indeed? And what do you think?"

"Mostly I think you just like fucking with my head. But sometimes…I don't know. You tell me, Tom."

Holding his gaze, Riddle put a hand on Harry's neck. Harry held his breath.

Slowly, very slowly, Riddle moved his hand down his chest, and lower, to his stomach, where it stopped. Harry's stomach muscles constricted.

Riddle leaned in to his lips. "I hate to disappoint you, pet," he said, their lips almost brushing. "But you are not my type. Too Gryffindor for my liking."

"Yes?"

Riddle brushed their lips together. "Yes."

"Good. You aren't my type, either." Harry tore himself away and stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Merlin.

A few moments passed in silence.

"Well," said Riddle at last. "We are wasting precious time. Let me show you how to cast the Imperius—"

"I know perfectly well how to cast the Imperius curse," Harry said harshly. Riddle looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Shut up. I've used it only twice."

"I did not say anything," Riddle said innocently, idly playing with his wand. "Did you enjoy casting it? Personally, I prefer the Cruciatus Curse. It feels... much more enjoyable and personal."

Harry shook his head. Riddle was impossible. "I hated it. It made me nauseous," he added, remembering Ron's words that he felt nauseous after casting the curse on Bogrod. He tried not to think why _he_ hadn't been nauseous, despite casting the curse on Bogrod _and_ Travers.

"Liar."

Shrugging, Harry averted his eyes. His gaze landed on the girl again. "I said let her go."

"I will...after you practise on her the Imperius Curse."

"Dream on."

Riddle's tone hardened as he said, "We had a deal, Harry. You have to practise all spells in the book I chose for you. And the Imperius Curse happens to be one of them."

"I said I would practise them," Harry said. "I didn't say I would practise them on another student."

Riddle studied him for a moment. "If you don't, I will kill her."

Harry laughed. "You think I'd believe you? She'd be missed. And I would tell. You wouldn't dare."

Riddle looked deadly serious, eyes lacking any emotion whatsoever. "Are you certain about it? I am very good at memory charms."

Harry ground his teeth. He would like to think Riddle was bluffing, but with him, one never knew: he was quite capable of following on his threat just to prove that it wasn't empty. And Harry didn't fool himself into thinking that he could get the girl to safety while Riddle was still controlling her. He couldn't release her from the curse himself: an amateur attempt could damage her mind and he wasn't risking someone's sanity. Doing what Riddle wanted was probably the safer choice for her. Besides, she was already under the Imperius; the damage had been already done.

"Fine."

Tom smiled and flicked his wand, ending the curse non-verbally.

The girl blinked a few times, looking between them. "Tom? Potter? What's—"

Sighing, Harry lifted his wand. "Imperio." His eyes nearly closed when he felt her mind submit to him. It felt as odd as he remembered, but it also felt good. He could feel that his magic liked the curse, his whole body tingling.

Trying to shake off the feeling, he looked at Megan. _Go punch him in the face_.

Riddle laughed when the girl hit him across the face. "How disgustingly muggle, Harry," he said, wiping the blood from his lips. "And how unimaginative. I thought you would find a better use for her." His dark eyes met Harry's. "Trust me, there is nothing equalling the rush you get when forcing someone to do your every bidding…pleasuring you against their will. Just think about it."

Harry wet his dry lips. "You're sick. You need help. I hope someone would do that to _you_ and teach you a lesson."

Riddle laughed. "Do you think you are the first one to want that? I am a Legilimens, Harry. Every single one of my so-called friends want 'to teach me a lesson,' but no one is brave enough—or stupid enough—to try. You are neither the first, nor the last."

"That's comforting," Harry said sarcastically, though he _was _relieved, and immensely. No wonder everyone had thoughts like that. Riddle was so bloody arrogant, smug, infuriating; he was practically asking for that—asking for someone to bring him to his knees. There was nothing sexual about it. It was about humiliating and degrading Riddle; that was all.

"You know, let's make a deal, Harry," Riddle said suddenly. "I will let you _try _putting me under the Imperius Curse. If you manage to do that, I will not curse you afterwards, no matter what you make me do."

Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes. There had to be a catch. "And if I don't?"

A small smirk appeared on Riddle's lips. "If you don't, _I _will put you under the Imperius and you will not throw it off—I have heard you can do it."

Harry's stomach churned. The mere thought of being forced to do Riddle's every bidding was sickening, but the temptation to wipe that smirk off Riddle's lips was too strong.

"Deal," he said. "But get rid of her first."

Riddle nodded.

Harry ended the curse, and Tom unceremoniously stunned the girl. She collapsed to the floor like a rag doll.

"I will be back in a minute," Riddle said, levitating her behind him, and headed to the exit.

Harry sighed, wondering why he wasn't very bothered by Riddle's cruel treatment of the girl. Why wasn't he running to McGonagall with complaints? Tom could do nothing to stop him. Only a few weeks ago, he would have been infuriated on the girl's behalf. Where was his famous "saviour complex"? Hell, he'd just used the Imperius Curse on an innocent student. Now that Harry thought about it, he could have refused, he could have stunned Riddle or done something else. But he didn't. It was as if…When it came to Riddle, he seemed to completely lose the ability to think.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered, raking his hand through his hair.

"Second thoughts?"

Harry stiffened before turning around. "No."

"Good. Second thoughts are for the weak." Riddle eyed his face. "Are you ready?"

Their gazes locked and held.

"Are you?" Harry said, his heart hammering in his chest.

Riddle's lips twitched. "Do your worst, pet."

Harry lifted his wand. "Imperio."

It was like being sucked into a tornado. Riddle's will was too strong and didn't want to submit, and it was a furious battle of wills as each tried to control and suppress the other. Only by sheer determination, Harry kept pushing, and pushing, until something snapped and he was hit with a surge of warm power rippling through him.

Harry opened his eyes and grinned, seeing a relaxed, distant expression on Riddle's face. He'd done it!

Giddy and almost drunk with power, he stared at Riddle, his magic surging through his veins and bringing on a light-headed feeling that he thoroughly enjoyed. He could do anything to him.

_Anything_.

"Come over here and kiss my shoes."

Riddle walked over and, kneeling in front of him, pressed his lips to Harry's shoe, then to the other. And stayed on his knees. Waiting for _instructions_.

Dropping his wand, Harry wet his suddenly dry lips. Stared at him. A tendril of something warm settled in his stomach. And something ugly and hot burned in his chest.

He wouldn't.

He wouldn't. It was immoral.

_Why not? It would be payback for what he had done to the girl_.

Harry shook his head, trying to shake off the thought. No, damn it. If he did it, he'd be no better than Riddle.

_But he had given his consent to do anything I wanted if I managed the curse. I won it, fair and square._

Harry looked at Riddle's cold, arrogant face, and suddenly felt a rush of pure hatred. Really, why not? If anything, it would teach the bastard a lesson. Maybe in the future he would be more careful with thoughtlessly using the Unforgivables on other students. _He deserves it. He had it coming._

_No, I won't_, he told himself, but it was a lost battle: his hands were already reaching down to cradle Riddle's face.

Harry stared down at him, unable to say anything. Couldn't say anything. But he didn't need to—the Imperius Curse didn't require speech. The will, the dark desire burning in his chest was enough, and he couldn't fight it no matter how hard he tried. And he didn't try hard enough. He wanted it. Wanted to punish him. Wanted to punish him for what he was turning him into.

Harry inhaled sharply when Riddle nuzzled his crotch, mouthing his cock through the fabric. When Riddle pressed his lips against the cockhead, the last remnants of Harry's conscience died, everything but lust fading away. He wanted him. Wanted to be in this mouth. More than anything.

"Just for the record: I hate you," he said harshly, reaching for his zipper and pulling out his erection. Burying his fingers in Riddle's silky hair, he watched as his dripping thick cock rubbed against Riddle's face. It looked obscene and utterly, utterly wrong.

Utterly wrong and arousing.

"Open your mouth."

Riddle did, and Harry fed him his cock. Merlin, the sight of his cock disappearing into Riddle's mouth was just... _This is the Dark Lord I'm fucking_. Riddle was going to kill him.

"Suck."

And Riddle did.

Harry's knees nearly buckled at the sensation of Riddle's hot, wet mouth around him. And the sight of him on his knees, sucking him off was such a turn-on.

"Look at you, _pet_," Harry whispered, stroking the smooth cheek. "Not so arrogant now, are we? Sucking off the bloke who killed you." He felt Riddle struggle against the Imperius, trying and failing to throw it off. "God, your mouth." He'd been so turned on ever since he entered the chamber that it didn't take too long. He knew he was already close to coming.

"Stop," he croaked out and Riddle stopped sucking him. Harry pulled out until only the tip of his penis remained inside. "Keep your mouth open. Don't move." And he slammed back home, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Gripping the black hair, he started moving, in and out, in and out, until everything turned into a blur of pleasure. Before long, he was coming down his throat, shuddering and groaning.

"Fuck," he gasped, breathing heavily. He looked down at Riddle.

He looked..._good_ with Harry's dick in his mouth. Like it belonged there.

Pushing away the absurd thought, Harry pulled out his soft cock. He looked at it before looking at Riddle's shiny red lips. What the hell; Riddle was going to kill him anyway.

"Lick me clean," he said softly and watched in fascination as Riddle's pink tongue cleaned his dick. By the time Riddle finished, he was half-hard again.

And he wanted back into that mouth, more than anything in the world.

Harry staggered back. No. It had been about teaching the bastard a lesson, not getting his rocks off. And fuck, _Ginny_. He'd completely forgotten about her. She'd kill him. Hell, he wanted to kill himself. What had he been thinking?

As the giddy rush of power and pleasure started fading, the more sickened he felt. His hands shaking, Harry zipped up and picked up his wand. "Finite Incantatem."

He honestly expected Riddle to Crucio him on the spot as soon as he ended the curse.

But he didn't. Riddle stared at him for a few moments and then...he _laughed_.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. You have no idea what you have done, do you?" he said, getting to his feet. His tone was as arrogant as ever.

A sinking feeling appeared in Harry's stomach. It wasn't as though he expected Riddle to be traumatized—he doubted something like that could traumatize him—but he wasn't supposed to be laughing. He was supposed to be humiliated and furious. Not laughing. "What are you talking about?"

Wiping his lips, Riddle walked to his armchair and sat down. "I could have told you, but I will not," he said, his voice condescending. "It will be...your homework. But I will give you a hint. You could feel it, could you not?"

"Feel what?"

Riddle smirked. "You felt so powerful, so invincible, did you not? If you were not so high on power, I doubt you would have done what you did."

And Harry saw red.

The next thing he knew, he had a hand around Riddle's throat. He shook him like a rag doll. "You did it on purpose, didn't you? You bloody let me Imperio you!"

"Of course I did," Riddle said with a derisive sneer. "Did you think you were powerful enough to put _me _under the Imperius Curse? No one is that powerful, not even you." He smiled. "Honestly, you are so predictable, pet. I brought the girl here, put her under the Imperius and fucked her in front of you with a single goal in my mind. I knew what would get you worked up, and you played right into my hands."

"You—you—" Harry was practically shaking with rage. "I can't bloody believe you. You even let me fuck your mouth just to… _Why_?"

Riddle's face went completely inscrutable. "I let you put me under the Imperius Curse to teach you a lesson. As to why… That's for you to find out. That is something you should have known, but didn't. You should have finished the priceless book I gave you; the information was there. Knowledge is power. Ignorance is for fools. And while what you made me do certainly wasn't what I expected—I did not honestly think you had it in you, Harry—it was nothing I could not handle. You held no real power over me."

Riddle smiled darkly, raising a hand to stroke Harry's face, mock-affectionately. "You fool. You thought you had me under your control, but I was laughing at you. You thought you were teaching me a lesson, but I was the one teaching it. You thought you were using me, but I was the one playing you like a fiddle. Admit it, I was right: you are not so different from me. You enjoyed having someone completely at your mercy. You loved it, Harry Potter."

Harry felt his neck grow hot at the memory. He looked at Riddle's lips and couldn't help but think: _I __was __in that mouth just a few minutes ago_. It made him hard again, and it pissed him off even more.

"You know what? I did," he said and watched Riddle's eyes widen slightly. "Yes, I enjoyed fucking your mouth and coming down your throat. I enjoyed forcing you to kiss my shoes and lick my dick clean. You look so good on your knees, Tom. Now I know why Voldemort was such a pathetic Dark Lord. You were born to _serve_."

"_Crucio_!"

Harry was thrust back to the floor, his body jerking and convulsing as agony tore through him. Every cell in his body felt as if on fire, and he barely managed to stifle a cry as he writhed in pain. After what felt like an eternity, the assault ended.

When his body stopped shuddering, Harry opened his wet eyes and focused them on the figure looming over him.

"Don't you dare to ever speak to me like this again," Riddle hissed before striding away.

His whole body aching, Harry sat up with difficulty and then promptly threw up.

When he stopped retching, he laughed, long and hard.


	9. Ugly Truths

**Chapter 9 **

**Ugly Truths**

Harry muttered the password, and stumbling into the Slytherin common room, pulled off his invisibility cloak. His entire body was still so weak after the Cruciatus Curse that the only thing he wanted was to get into his bed and sleep for a day.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Sighing, Harry stopped. "I'm not in the mood for you now, Rosier."

Sebastian stood up from his armchair and walked to him.

Harry glanced around. There was no one in the common room except for them.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out after the curfew," Rosier said with a nice smile.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Good night, Sebastian." He turned towards the corridor leading to his dorm, but Rosier's voice stopped him.

"What a coincidence that Tom returned just a few minutes ago and wasn't in the mood for talking, either."

Harry looked back at him, keeping his face impassive. He studied Rosier. He still didn't quite know what to make of the bloke. He was hard to read. Most of the time, he seemed pretty nice for a Slytherin, and he actually reminded Harry of Sirius for some reason, but there was that ever-present ruthlessness lurking beneath the surface. "Really? And this should interest me why?"

Rosier shrugged with a smile. "Just an observation."

The way he was looking at him made Harry uneasy. "What?" he snapped at last. He wasn't in the mood for any mind games. He'd had enough for tonight.

"Oh, nothing," Rosier said and Harry turned to leave. "I just didn't know you were one of us."

Harry went still. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sebastian laughed. "I really hope you are just feigning ignorance. Good night, Potter."

Harry still stood there, unmoving, long after Rosier was gone.

If Rosier meant what Harry thought, then…

Nothing.

Maybe he was just too tired, but the freak out never came.

* * *

#####

"Mate, why are they all looking weirdly at you?" Ron said, shooting the Slytherins dirty looks as they passed through the common room the next morning.

Harry shrugged, avoiding Ron's eyes and accidentally caught Malfoy's, who had been giving him odd looks too.

When Ron got distracted by Dean, Harry stepped closer to Malfoy. "Well?" he said, lowering his voice. "Why is everyone looking at me like I've grown a second head?"

Malfoy gave him an odd look again. "Are you saying you have no clue what it is about?"

Sighing, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I have a guess, but I'm hoping I'm wrong. Come on, Malfoy, tell me."

"Let's just say that now many Slytherins might actually believe Skeeter's stupid article."

Harry grimaced. "Are you saying that…" He lowered his voice even more, walking closer to Malfoy as they exited the Slytherin common room. "That they can sense dark magic on me?"

Malfoy snorted. "Sense? Potter, you bloody reek of dark magic, but it's not even that. It's your magical core. Those of us who can see magical auras can see that your magical affinity has changed. Now it's as dark as it gets." He smirked. "Well, well. Been playing with the Unforgivables lately, Potter?"

Harry felt his stomach drop. "How…" Taking Malfoy's arm, he dragged him aside, telling Ron and Dean to go ahead. "I was told the affinity to dark magic was only inherited."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Whoever told you that didn't tell you the whole truth. It _is_ true that magical affinity is inherited, but it's certainly possible for one's affinity to change. It happens very rarely, but it's not unheard of. Don't you remember Barty Crouch Junior?"

Harry nearly groaned. Why hadn't he thought of him? He couldn't even be angry with Riddle for feeding him some bullshit; he was far angrier with himself.

"How did you know I used the Unforgivable Curses?"

"Because magical affinity doesn't change easily, Potter." Malfoy said. "Simply casting dark spells isn't enough to change one's affinity to dark. It's a part of it, yes, but it takes more than that. You have to use the Unforgivable Curses."

"Why them?"

Malfoy gave him a strange look. "Do you even know why the Unforgivables are labelled as such, Potter? Using any of them results in a life sentence to Azkaban not because they're that horrible or because they are unblockable; frankly, there are much worse dark spells. They are forbidden and feared so much because using any of those three curses changes you—or rather, changes your magic. They were classified as 'Unforgivable' only in 1717, almost a century after dark spells were banned, because the Ministry found out that they 'corrupted' good light wizards much more than other dark spells. In fact, Spell Creators believe the Unforgivable Curses developed such a side-effect as a response to the decrease of the use of dark magic. That is the beauty of the Dark Arts: they can adapt and mutate with time."

"But that's can't be right," Harry said, his mouth dry. "Many people used the Unforgivables during the war. I know Ron and McGonagall did, too. But it didn't turn them dark."

Malfoy shook his head. "The Unforgivables don't change you straight away. It takes repeated use. The more you cast them—that is, if you can cast them at all—the more powerful they feel and the more you get used to them. They taint your magic step by step, especially if you cast them in succession. That said, it doesn't mean it's inevitable. Even using the Unforgivables won't necessarily make you dark if you don't actually prefer dark magic to light magic. After all, what is 'affinity'? A natural attraction, the feeling of kinship. So if you don't truly enjoy dark magic, you can't be turned, Potter. Wizards from old Light families usually can't be turned at all. Their magical cores simply don't like the type of magic their ancestors stopped using centuries ago."

Malfoy gave him a long, curious look. "That's why I was so surprised that your affinity changed. I mean, I sensed some dark magic on you before, but I didn't think your affinity would change. You are a Potter. Being a half-blood doesn't change that."

Harry looked away. He guessed the fact that he'd had Voldemort's soul in him ever since he was a baby might have something to do with it.

"Just out of curiosity, Potter: how many times have you cast the Unforgivable Curses?"

Harry ran a hand over his face. "Successfully? Five." Amycus Carrow, Bogrod, Travers, the girl and Riddle. "Is everyone going to look at me and know about that now?"

Malfoy snorted. "Hardly. Only very few old dark families have the ability to see magical auras. Usually you have to use a very complicated spell to see it."

"But all Slytherins—"

"Slytherins stared at you because the word gets around quickly. Those who can see your magical aura aren't keeping their mouths shut; that's all." Malfoy sneered. "Don't worry, Potter, the Weaslette wouldn't notice a thing."

Averting his gaze, Harry tugged at his tie. "Yeah. Right." That wasn't his favourite topic right now. "What does it change, though? Having a dark affinity, I mean?"

Raising his eyebrows, Malfoy smirked. "Well, it's rather obvious, isn't it? It means you're one of us."

Harry frowned. "I don't really—"

"I want to talk to you, Malfoy," a cold voice interrupted them and Rosier practically yanked Malfoy away from him.

"What do you want?" Draco said, haughtily, trying to free his arm from Rosier's grip.

Harry watched as they glowered at each other.

"I do hope you remember our conversation," Rosier said meaningfully.

Malfoy flushed. "Thanks, my memory is perfect," he gritted out. "Now, let go of me at once. You are hurting me, you brute!"

"No, I don't think so. I'm not done with you yet."

Harry frowned. "Let him go, Rosier. We'll be late for breakfast."

The glare Rosier gave him nearly made him flinch. There was no trace of his usual smile on his face. "Stay out of this, Potter. It's none of your business."

Harry opened his mouth to argue but completely forgot what he was about to say when Riddle and a couple of other Slytherins emerged out of the common room.

Tom looked as perfectly composed as ever.

And he didn't even acknowledge Harry with a glance.

Harry stared at his retreating back, barely listening to Rosier and Malfoy's bickering.

"Ah. I see your hero promptly forgot about you the moment he saw Vergne."

"If you don't shut up, I swear I'll hex your balls off."

"I'm very scared, Mummy's little dragon."

"At least I do have a mother."

"How original." Rosier chuckled. "I'm going to go cry into my pillow now. I'm afraid you're confusing me with Potter, Princess. I'm not nearly as sensitive."

"Oh I'd never confuse you with Potter, don't you worry," Malfoy said in a sweet voice.

A pause.

"You're so pathetic."

"Takes one to know one," Malfoy said sweetly before lowering his voice and hissing something.

But Harry wasn't really listening anyway: he watched Riddle until he disappeared out of sight.

* * *

#####

Harry lay flat on his back, his eyes wide open and staring at the dark canopy of his bed. The dorm was quiet except for the sound of Dean's snoring. Ron was probably with Hermione, as usual. Malfoy was here, though, which was unusual enough; he was often absent from his bed lately.

"Hey, Malfoy," he murmured quietly.

"What?" the Slytherin said after a moment, sounding rather sleepy. And irritated.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"No."

"Well, get on with it, then."

Harry chewed on his lip, listening to Dean's snoring.

"Potter, I want to get some sleep tonight. Hurry the fuck up."

"We didn't finish our conversation this morning. About the dark affinity, I mean."

"What about it?"

"I just..."

Malfoy heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Just get on with it, Potter."

"You know, I've thought about it a lot," Harry said quietly. "And I even talked to Professor Dumbledore's portrait. He told me he knew many good people with the dark affinity who served the Light—like Snape and Sirius. He says that he believes in my 'good heart' and that as long as I stay a good person, my magical affinity doesn't matter."

"So?" Malfoy said, sounding uncomfortable, as he always did when Dumbledore was mentioned.

"The thing is…I'm not sure I'm a good person." Harry bit his lip. "Sometimes, it's like...I don't recognize myself. I get… I get these ugly, nasty thoughts and actually say them aloud, and I do some crazy, immoral things I would have never done before and want things I shouldn't want. I'm just—I don't feel like I'm a good person anymore, you know? Could it be because of the dark magic?"

Malfoy snorted. "I hate to disappoint you, but I'm afraid it has little to do with your dark affinity. Dark doesn't equal evil, you know. If you're being a bastard, it's because you _are_ a bastard."

"No, I'm not trying to blame everything on dark magic. Some of it was just me. But…I used the Imperius Curse on someone and made them do something absolutely immoral and wrong. I swear I didn't feel like myself. It felt like I was bloody possessed—like my magic was urging me to do it, as if it had a mind of its own."

Malfoy hummed thoughtfully. "It sounds like you just have a particular liking for the Imperius curse. It happens, Potter. Every dark wizard is a bit addicted to one dark spell or another. Don't worry, contrary to popular belief, dark magic addiction doesn't actually make people crazy."

Harry turned his head to him sharply. "Dark Magic addiction? You mean all dark spells are addictive?"

"Anything that makes you feel good can become addictive. 'Addicted' is probably a wrong word, though. The thing is, all of us can be affected differently by different dark spells: a spell that doesn't affect you at all might make me high as a kite and giddy, and vice versa. So all of the old dark spells have the potential to become addictive. That's why they're considered Dark, after all."

Son of a bitch. He was going to kill Riddle.

"So it isn't true that before the Ministry banned dark spells, there had been no such thing as 'Dark Magic'? That the Ministry banned those spells because they were powerful?"

"Well," Malfoy said. "It is true, as well. The term didn't exist before. The Ministry people banned powerful old spells because they feared those who could use them, and they feared them because dark spells were not only powerful but also addictive, which made them even more dangerous."

Harry's lips twisted. Had Riddle ever told him anything without bending the truth?

"By the way, I'm really curious, Potter. How did you get so bloody powerful? You were just above average before the end of the war, but now you are the most powerful wizard in school—hell, probably in Britain."

"I guess I just grew up," Harry said evasively before frowning. "I'm not the most powerful wizard: Vergne is. He just hides his power better."

Malfoy snorted. "Potter, don't take me for an idiot. My father taught me to see magical auras when I was a toddler. All Malfoys are very sensitive to power. It's a talent." He made a bitter noise that might have been a laugh. "Or maybe a curse. Anyway, I know Vergne is extremely powerful, much more powerful than he lets everyone see, but he isn't more powerful than you. Yes, his power is more refined, but I think you have a bit more raw magic than him. Granted, he's a couple of years younger, so his magical core is probably still growing, but—"

Harry laughed. Merlin, it was almost adorable.

"What? What is so funny?"

"Nothing," Harry said, shaking his head with a smile.

His smile slipped off.

Riddle.

Harry ran a hand over his face as conflicting emotions surged within him.

Riddle had been completely ignoring him. He actually had the nerve to act like Harry wasn't worthy of his precious attention. Harry sure as hell wasn't apologizing to him. If anything, the bastard was the one who should be doing the apologizing for feeding him half-truths, making crucial omissions, and playing him like a fiddle. Every time Harry thought about it, he felt used, dirty, and pissed off.

So, all things considered, he should have been happy that Riddle had finally left him alone.

But for some reason, it really bothered him. And it bothered that it bothered him.

Bloody hell. As if he didn't have enough problems with Ginny.

Harry had no idea what to do about her. She'd been pointedly ignoring him, too—no doubt still angry over the ridiculous book—but he avoided her. His stomach churned with guilt and shame every time he saw her, and he wasn't sure he could actually talk to her and look her into the eyes.

And the most annoying thing was, Harry wasn't sure what bothered him more: Ginny's ignoring him or Riddle's.

Merlin, what a mess.

He wished he could go back in time and prevent himself from… doing what he had done.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, guilt gnawing at his insides. Guilt and something else.

"Hey, Malfoy."

"What now, Potter?"

"Have you…" Harry chewed on his lip, looking at the dark canopy above him. "Have you ever shagged someone you hated?"

Malfoy sat up. "You cheated on Weaslette!"

Harry didn't look at him. "It's just a hypothetical question."

Malfoy snorted. "Right. And you're asking this completely hypothetical question at two in the morning."

"Just answer the question, Draco."

"Well," Malfoy said, lying back again. His voice sounded a bit off. "Do blowjobs count?"

"Yes."

"In that case, yes."

"Did you... Did you feel ashamed afterwards? Disgusted with yourself?"

"Well. Not really. But then again, _I _don't have a girlfriend."

Harry wet his lips. "Did you like it, then?"

Malfoy made an annoyed noise. "Does it matter?"

"If it didn't, I wouldn't be asking this at two in the morning, would I?"

Malfoy stayed quiet for so long that Harry started wondering if he would reply at all.

"You know, Potter," he said at last. "I hate the bloke—like, really, really hate him. I bloody _detest _him and want to claw his eyes out every time he says something, but... It's such a huge turn on to have that kind of power over him. I actually get off on sucking him off, because I love turning him into a pathetic mess of hormones." Malfoy cleared his throat. "Anyway, who's the lucky girl, Potter?"

"No one." Harry was already regretting bringing it up. "It was just a one-time thing. Just sex and nothing more. Actually, to call it sex is a stretch."

Malfoy sniggered. "Merlin's tits, Potter, are you really saying you're just like the rest of us mere mortals? I always thought you were the type to romanticize sex. Saint Potter and all."

Harry's jaw tightened. He turned his back to Malfoy. "Forget it."

"Wait, Potter." Malfoy's voice lost its amusement. "If you want my advice, here it is. If you're wondering whether you should tell Weaslette that you cheated on her, I think you shouldn't. Everyone always says honesty is the best policy, but I really don't think you should say anything. What is the point? That is, if you're sure that it was a one-time thing, of course."

Harry smiled crookedly. "Trust me, there's no chance in hell it will ever happen again."

"Well, then you have your answer," Malfoy drawled out. "Do nothing. There's no point in telling her anything. It would only upset her."

Harry closed his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

It was funny that he was getting a relationship advice from Malfoy of all people, especially considering...

"Malfoy."

A long-suffering sigh. "What now?"

"Is it true that you used to have a thing for me?"

Silence.

"I hate you so much, Potter," Malfoy groaned into his pillow. "No tact at all."

Harry grinned. "So it's true, huh?"

"Yes," Malfoy bit out. "But don't let it go to your head, Scarhead. It was years ago, when I was, like, twelve. You just happened to be my type: tall, dark, and broody."

"I wasn't tall at twelve," Harry said, smiling.

"Shut up. And by the way, you don't do it for me anymore."

Harry chuckled. "I'm wounded, Malfoy. So who is the object of your affections now?"

A pause. "No one. Though I'd totally shag Vergne." Malfoy let out a dreamy sigh. "The hottest bloke I've ever seen. I so wouldn't mind to get under him. "

Harry tried to imagine Riddle on top of Malfoy, but instead, the image of Riddle under _him _flashed through his mind and a spark of excitement travelled down his spine.

For fuck's sake.

"But you've been out at night a lot lately," Harry said, shoving the disturbing—yes, disturbing—thought out of his mind. "I thought you were seeing someone."

"Let's just say I'm working on restoring my position in Slytherin House."

Harry's eyes flew open. "What? You're sleeping with someone just to—"

"I assure you there is no sleeping involved."

"You're mad," Harry said, shaking his head. "How can you let someone use your body—"

Malfoy sniggered. "I'm the one doing the using, Potter. It's honestly pathetic how he turns into a softie after a simple blowjob. Some blokes are pathetic like that."

"And who is the poor bloke?"

"You'd never guess," Malfoy said smugly.

"Hmm," Harry said. "Let's see: he has to be influential enough to make any difference. There are I think...only six Slytherin blokes who are that influential: Vergne, Rosier, Selwyn, Nott, Rookwood, and Derr. I'm pretty sure Rookwood and Derr are one hundred percent straight, and Selwyn is still in St. Mungo's. It's not Vergne. So, it's either Rosier or Nott."

Judging by Malfoy's silence, it seemed he was right.

Harry grinned. "The question is which one."

"Shut up, Potter."

"You hate Rosier, so it's probably not him either—" Harry stopped talking, suddenly remembering Malfoy's earlier confession. "Rosier?" he said in disbelief. "You're shagging Rosier?"

A hush fell over the room, broken only by Dean's snoring.

"It's not like I'm whoring myself," Malfoy said, his tone defensive. "And it's not like I'm letting him fuck me. Enduring his horrible, sloppy kisses is a small price for making a fool of him in the end."

"Malfoy, I'm not judging you. I'm just surprised. And a bit confused. You've been very rude to him today. Aren't you supposed to treat him better? He'd never believe you like him if you keep verbally abusing him."

"You don't know him as well as I do, Potter. As much as I hate to admit it, Rosier isn't an idiot. He would suspect something if I suddenly start acting lovesick. Don't worry, I have everything planned out," Malfoy added smugly. "I know what I'm doing."

Harry turned on his stomach and closed his eyes. "I wish I did."

* * *

#####

Harry had told himself he wouldn't seek Riddle out.

But when he saw Tom alone in the library, he couldn't stop himself from approaching him.

"I want to talk to you."

Slowly, Riddle looked up from the bookshelf to him.

The look he gave Harry would have withered stone. "I'm rather busy, Potter."

Potter?

"I think you can spare me a few minutes."

Riddle studied him for a long moment, his face closed off. Finally, he put his book back onto the bookshelf. "Well, Potter?"

Harry scoffed. "Really, Tom? You don't get to play the offended party. If anything, I'm the one who has the right to be pissed off, not you."

Riddle stayed cold. "Listen, Potter—"

"Bloody hell, would you stop calling me that?"

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Why ever not?"

Harry scowled. "Just don't. It's weird as fuck and annoys me."

Riddle smiled, mock-affectionately. He softened his voice, "Why, pet, do you actually like when I use stupid endearments?"

"Just 'Harry' is fine," Harry bit out.

Riddle cocked his head. "I think…not. I am afraid you would have to get used to being addressed as 'Potter' or not addressed at all. Now that my goal has been accomplished, associating with you is not of interest to me. It has gotten rather boring."

"Your goal?" Harry said with a glare. "You mean the goal of turning me into a dark wizard? Why, Tom? What did you do that for?"

Riddle shrugged. "Why not? It was somewhat entertaining. And I have some long-term plans that I would like not to be disrupted by annoying heroes of the Light."

Harry snorted. "And what, you think if I have a dark affinity now, I'm not going to fight against a Dark Lord?"

Riddle smiled, as though Harry said something incredibly funny. "We shall see."

He turned back to the bookshelf, but Harry grabbed his arm. "That's it?"

Riddle's expression betrayed nothing. "Yes, _Potter_. That's it. I told you: it has become boring."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you. You're just pissed off because of what I said to you."

Riddle laughed coldly. "Why would I be angry because of those idiotic, ridiculous things you said?"

Harry stepped closer and took Tom's chin into his hand, eyeing his inscrutable face. "Maybe because I hit a bit close to home?"

"Do you want another Cruciatus?" Riddle asked pleasantly, pressing his wand against Harry's throat.

"See? You are overreacting again," Harry said, watching him closely. "It's so unlike you, Tom. You are always so cool, so composed." Harry met the dark eyes. "Maybe, deep down, you liked it and didn't like that you liked it."

Riddle sneered. "Or perhaps, _you_ are the one who liked it so much that you wish I did."

"Don't flatter yourself. I have a girlfriend I love."

Riddle leaned closer. "Yes," he said almost against Harry's lips. "I could feel how much you 'loved' her in my mouth. You know what I think? I think you just like the _idea_ of being in 'love' with her, marrying her and producing a bunch of babies. But that is not what you really want, is it?"

Harry took a shaky breath in. His grip on Tom's chin tightened. "You know nothing," he hissed. "I really love Ginny." But his lips had a mind of their own, biting and sucking on Tom's bottom lip. "I bloody hate you, you manipulative little shit—"

Someone gasped loudly.

They both stiffened.

Harry turned his head—

And met Ginny's shocked, wide eyes.

"Hello, Ginevra," Riddle said pleasantly, wiping his lips.


	10. Bridges Burned

A/N: I've got a bit of a writer's block, and that's why this chapter is so short. I decided to update the story anyway because I hate to leave readers hanging on a cliff-hanger. I'm very sorry and thank you for your reviews. They help a lot.

**Edit**: Reading the reviews made me realize that I'm not making it as clear as I thought I did. Tom might seem disinterested in Harry, but it's just a facade. He _is_ interested, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't feel in control when he is with Harry, and he doesn't like not being a control: he sees it as weak. He's just better at hiding his emotions than Harry.

And when I say I have a writer's block, I don't mean that I don't know where I'm going with this story-I do. Actually, I have the entire story outlined and planned out. Finding the motivation to write is my biggest challenge.

Thank you so much for your reviews and suggestions! They do help a lot. :)

* * *

**#####**

**Chapter 10**

**Bridges Burned**

The silence was deafening.

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

He could only look blankly at Ginny's shocked face, but his hand was already moving for his wand.

Riddle grabbed his wrist. "Tsk, tsk, Harry. You weren't going to Obliviate her, were you? How naughty of you."

Harry glared at him.

"You…and him…" Ginny said faintly.

Harry turned back to her. "Look, Gin, I know how it looks, but it's not what—"

"It is exactly what it looks like, Ginevra," Riddle cut him off smoothly. "Don't insult her intelligence, pet. She saw everything. And in any case, you could not keep lying to her forever. She would have had to find out about us sooner or later."

"Us?" Ginny repeated blankly.

"There is no 'us,'" Harry bit out with a murderous look at Tom. "Look, Ginny, this was—"

"A mistake, of course," Ginny said, glaring at Riddle. "Don't worry, Harry; of course I don't believe a word he says. I'm sure he saw me and somehow tricked you."

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Tricked him? I'm quite flattered you think so highly of me, Ginevra. But I assure you he was more than willing."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffed. "I'm not an idiot. I'd never believe your word over Harry's, so no matter what you say, you'd never fool me. That's absolutely ridiculous! Harry hates you and despises you. And he loves me."

Riddle smiled at her. It wasn't a nice smile. "Ginevra, Ginevra… Your delusions are almost amusing. I can easily prove my words."

"Enough," Harry said. "Let's go, Ginny."

"No," she said, glaring at Riddle. "I want to see him making a fool of himself. Let's hear your 'proof,' Tom."

"Very well." Riddle said, eyes gleaming. "He has a birthmark on his inner thigh. Left thigh."

Harry went still, as did Ginny.

Riddle smiled at Ginny. "But you wouldn't know, would you?"

"Harry?" she said tightly.

"I don't have a birthmark there."

"Well, let's prove it to him, then," Ginny said. "Pull your trousers down."

Harry let out a laugh. "What? No way!"

She pursed her lips, a shadow of doubt crossing her face. "Why not?"

"Indeed, why not, pet?"

Harry glared at Tom's amused face. "Because it's bloody ridiculous, Ginny. You just said you wouldn't believe his word over mine, and now you are doing exactly that."

She narrowed her eyes. "Pull your trousers down, Harry."

He set his jaw. "No."

"Actually, yes, do not do that, Harry," Riddle said, placing his hand on the buckle of Harry's belt in a rather possessive manner. "I am not very good at sharing my belongings."

His fingers played with the buckle.

Slowly, Harry turned his head to him.

Their gazes met and held.

"And you don't want to upset me, do you?" Tom said softly, his hand creeping up Harry's tie. Then, suddenly, he jerked Harry closer and kissed him.

Harry honestly tried to push him away. He _wanted_ to push him away, but it was like he had no control over his body. The moment their lips touched, the same ugly, needy want reared its head, clouding every single thought and leaving only the need to have, possess, and take—

Riddle tore his lips away. "It's not very nice to hex people while they are otherwise occupied, Ginevra."

Harry blinked and looked at Ginny dazedly.

She had her wand out, her face red and eyes wet. She was practically shaking. "You—you—I can't believe you!" She broke into tears and ran away.

"Ginny! Wait—"

Riddle grabbed his arm, stopping him. "You know it is pointless."

Harry gave him a hateful look. "_Why_? Why did you do that? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Riddle sneered. "Yes. I just ruined your pathetic white picket fence dream."

"God, you're such a bastard. You bloody broke her heart just for your amusement."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "And you are a saint, I presume?"

Harry flushed, his jaw tightening. "No, I'm no saint. But I'm not cruel, and that was cruel, Tom."

Cocking his head, Riddle studied him. "And you are surprised? I'm the villain, remember?" A tiny, disdainful smirk appeared on his lips. "Or did you fool yourself into thinking that I was a 'nice' person?"

Harry chuckled bitterly. "You? Nice? Never."

"Good." Riddle stepped away. "Well, that was entertaining, but I have no desire to waste more time on you than I already did."

He turned to leave, but Harry grabbed him and pushed him against the bookshelves. "Bullshit."

"Pardon?" Riddle said coldly.

"You're full of bullshit, Tom. You claim to be 'bored' of me, but you keep provoking me all the time. It's like you're bloody asking for it."

Riddle gave him an unimpressed look. "For what?"

"For this," Harry hissed and kissed him.

It wasn't a gentle kiss at all, but a clash of lips and teeth and fighting for dominance. It was hard, brutal, and angry—the kiss that wanted to hurt and punish—but it was also greedy and hungry. He felt feverish, disgusted by how needy he was, but unable to get enough of these lips and the heat of Tom's mouth, wanting more, more and more.

He was shoved away.

Riddle's face was flushed, lips swollen and red, but his eyes were hard and cold. "I wasn't 'asking' for anything. You give yourself far too much credit and I do not like it, _pet_." The word was said with such venom that Harry nearly flinched. "The truth is, I do not care for your attitude, Harry." He sneered. "Don't fool yourself into thinking that you mean something to me. You do not. Know your place. You will have to come begging for my company." And he strode away.

Harry leaned against the bookshelf and closed his eyes.

A poison. He was a fucking poison. The poison he couldn't get enough of.

"Harry?"

He opened his eyes and turned around. Luna stood before him, hugging a book to her chest.

"Hi, Luna."

"Is something wrong?"

Harry laughed. Something? Everything.

"Did I say something funny?"

Harry shook his head, his lips twisting.

He looked at her. "What do you see? When you look at me?"

She eyed him. Her silvery grey eyes seemed to look right into his soul. He was almost afraid of her answer.

"I see Harry," she said simply. "But he seems lost."

~tbc


	11. He Who Fights Monsters

**Chapter 11**

**He Who Fights Monsters  
**

_"He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster._

_ And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."_

_ — Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil_

**_-#-_**

**HARRY POTTER: THE BOY WHO LIED**

By Rita Skeeter, the bestselling author of the _Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_, and _Snape: Scoundrel or Saint_.

* * *

_Our children grew up listening to the tales about Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. _

_They grew up listening to the tales of his bravery, honesty, and everything that is Light and Good. _

_We taught them how to be exemplary citizens of Wizarding Britain by making Harry Potter the benchmark they must strive to be._

_My dear and loyal readers, it was all a lie._

_Harry Potter is neither good nor Light. He has fooled us all._

_The truth is, not only Harry Potter is a Dark Wizard, but he is also a liar and an adulterer. Yes, my readers, that is all true. Imagine my dismay when I have discovered that the Boy-Who-Lived has committed infidelity to his fiancé, Ginevra Weasley! They were as good as married, and the poor girl's heart seems to be completely broken. The witnesses—who wish to remain anonymous—say that they have seen Ms. Weasley sobbing in Neville Longbottom's arms after discovering the fact of infidelity. Now, This Author would never dare to speculate about the nature of Ms. Weasley's relationship with Mr. Longbottom, so she would concentrate on the subject at hand. Upon seeing his sister's state, Ron Weasley was seen verbally abusing his best friend and trying to hex him. It must be noted that Mr. Weasley failed to do that, and no wonder: we all know about Harry's being an extremely powerful Dark Wizard._

_Now, you are probably wondering how I know for certain that our Saviour committed infidelity._

_As you all know, I despise slandering innocents, so I had to get undeniable evidence before revealing Harry Potter's true nature to you._

_So, my readers, I did._

_Shocking, but Harry Potter was seen kissing Luna Lovegood in the library of Hogwarts yesterday! All evidence suggests that Ms. Weasley saw them and that is why she left the library in tears and fell into the strong arms of Mr. Longbottom. _

_A Hogwarts student who wished to remain anonymous shared with me his opinion: "I knew Potter and Lovegood had something going on ever since I saw them together at Professor Slughorn's Christmas party back in 1996." _

_That piece of information is certainly interesting, as it makes me wonder whether Harry has been having an affair with Ms. Lovegood for years behind his poor girlfriend's back._

_Now, my dear readers, you are probably wondering who Luna Lovegood is. __Fear not__, __I will shed light on this mystery._

_Luna is Ginevra's classmate and best friend, which makes matters even worse. She is also a pureblood witch and the only daughter of Cecilia Lovegood, the infamous Spell Creator. It is a well-known fact that Cecilia Lovegood experimented with Dark Spells and died trying to invent one, so it is quite logical to assume that Luna is a Dark Witch as well._

_A Dark Witch and the Saviour? _

_Or, perhaps, a Dark Witch and a future Dark Lord? _

_I shudder at the thought. Has she been corrupting Harry or is it the other way around? Or are the two of them already corrupt and beyond salvation?_

_Only a few months ago, we celebrated the Dark Lord You-Know-Who's demise. Were we just lulled into the false sense of security?_

_One thing is for certain: the Wizarding Britain's future is dark and ominous._

* * *

**#####**

"Well, that was fast," Harry said, grimacing at the Daily Prophet Hermione had handed him. Rita had outdone herself.

Hermione took a seat at the table and glanced around with obvious disapproval as the house elves bustled about, carrying various platters of food and drink. Finally, she turned back to him. "You can't hide in the kitchen forever, Harry."

"I'm not hiding," he said, setting the paper aside and returning to his breakfast. "I just don't feel like being stared at and gossiped about. Been there, done that. What are you even doing here anyway? Aren't you angry with me, too?"

Hermione gave him an offended look. "Ron and I are separate individuals, you know. He is the one angry with you. I'm just...I'm confused, Harry."

Harry took a gulp from his coffee. "Why? Not every couple gets a happily ever after."

"It's not that, Harry. I never thought Ginny was the one for you anyway."

He looked at her curiously. "Why not?"

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "Harry, when you really love someone, you want to be with them no matter what and you don't ditch them when the relationship is inconvenient for you. Besides, to be honest, I always thought Ginny was a carbon copy of your mother and you just wanted to be like your dad—"

"That's ridiculous, Hermione." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter now anyway. So why are you confused, then?"

"Because I don't understand, Harry. You seemed pretty happy with Ginny lately, but all of a sudden Ginny breaks up with you and wouldn't even look at you." She examined his face. "Rumours are running amok, but I want to hear the truth. You didn't really cheat on Ginny with Luna, did you?"

Harry winced. "Do people actually believe that bullshit? Is anyone giving Luna a hard time?"

"I don't think so." Hermione gave him a flat look. "And don't change the subject, Harry. I want to know the truth. Ginny refuses to tell me. She only said you were a liar and a cheater, and that she never wanted to talk to you again."

Raking a hand through his hair, Harry looked down at his cup. At least Ginny hadn't told them about Riddle. "It's true. I cheated on her."

Silence.

"With whom?"

Harry looked at her. "What? No righteous indignation?"

Her face was inscrutable. "With whom, Harry?"

Averting his eyes, Harry hesitated.

What the hell.

"Tom Vergne."

Silence fell again.

"Well," Hermione said after a while. "I suppose I should have seen that coming."

Harry's gaze snapped to her. "Why?"

She was blushing. "Well, I've seen the way you look at him sometimes. And the way he looks at you when you don't look at him—"

"And how does he look at me?"

Hermione blushed even harder.

Seeing her blush, Harry felt awkward too. Blimey, what was that about Hermione that made him feel like he was thirteen all over again whenever they talked about things like sex?

"Er, like he wants you," she said awkwardly. "And like he wants you to look at him."

When Harry said nothing, she looked at him curiously. "So are you together now?"

He laughed. "No."

He studied her. "You're very calm about it."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I certainly do not approve of cheating, Harry. But I can understand." She shrugged, blushing slightly again. "He's very handsome."

Harry snorted. "Don't let Ron hear you say that."

Hermione chuckled. "I'm in a relationship, not blind. As long as I just look, it's..."

An awkward silence stretched between them.

"So am I back to being a Dark Lord in the making?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

She sighed. "I'm afraid yes. People were starting to forget about the snakes incident, but now everyone remembered how evil and bad you are."

Harry smiled without humour. "Some things never change, do they?"

She didn't smile. Instead, she eyed him sadly. Reaching for his hand, she squeezed it. "Harry, we might not be as close as we used to be, but you do know I'm here for you, right?"

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed past it and pasted a strained smile onto his face.

Bloody hell, he wanted to tell her everything so badly, but he couldn't. He couldn't lose Hermione too.

She was the only thing he had left.

"I know," he said, squeezing her hand back.

* * *

**#####**

Harry entered the Slytherin common room and was about to quickly pass through it, as he always did, when a thought stopped him.

Why not stay here?

After a moment of thought, he walked to the armchair in the corner of the room. He felt Slytherins turning and watching him warily, but frankly, he couldn't give a damn. He had been on the receiving end of many dirty looks—Ron's in particular—the entire day, so it was nothing new. At least there was no chance in hell of Ron coming here; that was one confrontation he wanted to avoid. This way he could at least pretend their friendship wasn't destroyed beyond repair.

Dropping his bag on the floor next to the armchair, Harry sat down and, leaning back, eyed the Slytherins.

He didn't really expect any trouble, since the upper years weren't in the common room.

Therefore, he was a bit surprised when a tiny boy left a group of Slytherins and approached him.

The conversations came to a halt, the room going eerily quiet.

The boy stopped before him. "They say you are a dark wizard."

Harry studied him. "Do they?"

The kid was clearly unnerved but was trying hard not to show it. Harry mentally applauded him. "So is that true?"

Harry considered his answer carefully, aware that everyone was listening in. "Yes."

Whispers and murmurs broke out among the audience.

"Then why did you kill the Dark Lord? If you're one of us, why did you fight against your own kind?"

_One of us._ That phrase again.

Harry studied the boy, who seemed genuinely confused, before shifting his gaze to other students, who looked downright angry and distrustful. "What is your name?" he asked the kid, returning his eyes to him.

The boy frowned. "Noah Stardust."

"You see, Noah," Harry started, considering and discarding ideas quickly. Then he remembered a movie he'd once seen Dudley watch. "The thing is, I wasn't a dark wizard until I killed Voldemort. So naturally, I fought the Dark. But when I killed him, his powers transferred to me."

Another round of murmurs went around.

"It is not possible," some girl said, stepping forward. She looked to be a fourth or fifth year. Something about her oddly reminded him of Hermione. "It doesn't work like that, Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And you would be?"

She lifted her chin up proudly. "Melinda Nott."

Interesting. Was she Nott's sister?

"And how many dark lords have you killed, Melinda?"

The girl flushed. "Still, it is illogical. You can't possibly think we'd believe that."

"I don't care whether you believe it or not," Harry said with a smile that had an edge to it. "That is the truth."

Ignoring the murmurs, he reached for his bag and pulled out Rowena's book. If he was going to pretend to be a real dark wizard, he could as well finish it.

He opened the chapter on Occlumency; it interested him the most. He knew it was a major weakness that his mind was so unprotected. It was about time he finally learned it. He hated that Riddle read him like an open book.

He couldn't help but think of Snape's words.

_I told you to empty yourself of emotion! ... Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!_"

How right Snape had been.

Pushing the memories away, Harry concentrated on the book.

Rowena Ravenclaw must have been a very good teacher. She described Occlumency techniques very differently from Snape, using concepts he understood easily. Instead of simply saying to clear one's mind, she described how to do it. It was really fascinating, and soon enough, Harry nearly forgot where he was.

However, he stiffened when he heard the whispers die down again as an odd tension filled the room.

Harry looked up.

Nott was walking to him, his face twisted in an ugly expression and his wand out. "What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

Setting the book aside, Harry kept his face impassive. "Just enjoying my afternoon," he said calmly, pretending that he had no idea that all Slytherins were watching them like hawks. "It's my common room, after all."

"No, it isn't," Nott said with a sneer, stopping in front of him. "You know the rules. This is the Slytherin common room, for Slytherins only. The fact that McGonagall put your lot in our dorms doesn't make it your common room. Get out of here."

Harry narrowed his eyes, slipping his wand out of his sleeve.

"Theo," Melinda said uncertainly with a wary glance at Harry.

"No, let him talk," Harry said, standing up. He knew that confrontation was long in coming. Most Slytherins were still very unhappy about having students of other Houses—Gryffindors in particular—in their territory.

"What is there to talk about?" Nott spat out. "How dare you to show your face here, in our common room, after getting our fathers and brothers thrown into Azkaban?"

Harry met his eyes steadily. "I don't recall throwing anyone into Azkaban. If they got thrown there, they're the ones responsible for their stupidity, not me."

With a snarl, Nott whipped out his wand and shot a spell towards him. Harry swiftly blocked it and disarmed him nonverbally. Nott's wand flew into his hand.

"If you're looking for a fight," Harry said coldly, eyeing the enraged boy. "I'll have to disappoint you. Moreover, I'm a bit disappointed myself. I thought Slytherins were famous for their ambition and cunning, not their reckless stupidity. What did you hope to accomplish by openly attacking a war hero, the recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, while you and your mother barely avoided Azkaban? I heard you were this close to having all your properties confiscated. Even if all of your friends here lie that you didn't attack me, it would be my word against theirs, and who do you think the Aurors would believe?"

Nott visibly paled but sneered. "You aren't exactly popular right now, Potter."

Harry smiled. "Actually, that is a perfect opportunity for me to get into people's good graces again. Harry Potter, attacked by a dark wizard… Surely, I can't be dark, then, can I?"

Nott pressed his lips together. In his peripheral vision, Harry could see other Slytherins shift uneasily.

"Potter," Melinda said hesitantly. "Please don't tell—"

"I won't tell anything." Harry said. And then, a part of him—the same part that was sickeningly fascinated with Riddle—made him add, "For now. If you _annoy _me again, I might change my mind."

Nott nodded curtly, his eyes brimming with pure hatred, but there was also a grudging respect lurking somewhere in there.

Harry settled back in his armchair and resumed his reading. Or rather, pretended to.

He waited.

He didn't have to wait for long.

"Potter," Nott gritted out. "My wand."

Harry looked at him, then at the wand in his hand. "You know, Nott," he said, playing with the wand idly. "I take it rather personally when people attack me."

Nott glared at him. "What do you want?"

Harry made a show of considering it. "I want you to serve as a messenger." His gaze swept over the room, his expression hard. He was so sick of this. Sick of his life spiralling out of control. Screw Tom, screw Ginny, screw the Prophet, and screw the Ministry. It was about time he regained some control over his life. It was about time _he_ was the one to set the rules. "I want you to make it clear to everyone that I'm not to be bothered. No one should stare at me like I'm a circus animal—I'm getting rather tired of it. If I want to spend time here, I will do that and will be left alone. If I want to sit at the Slytherin table, no one should make a fuss about it. It's not a lot to ask, is it? I think I'm being very reasonable here."

Nott's jaw clenched. "I don't have authority over everyone. You can't ask me that—"

Harry smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. "You misunderstood me, Nott."

He stood up and, walking to Nott, thought of Malfoy's words.

_You are the most powerful wizard in Britain._

Most powerful? Hell, maybe it was time to put that power to use.

His lips twisting, Harry reached for his magical core. He had been suppressing his magic and fighting to control it for months, but now, he did the opposite: he called it to the surface, letting it pour out of his body, letting it reign.

The air charged with magic, becoming oppressive and heavy, and gasps sounded around the room, but he didn't pay them attention.

He concentrated on Nott, whose pupils dilated, face flushing and eyes glazing over.

And Harry _pushed_ his magic at him and Nott fell to his knees, breathing hard. The air became so saturated with magic that he could both smell and taste it.

Looking down at Nott, Harry felt something within him click and settle into place, as if he'd been missing something for a long time.

"I wasn't asking, Nott," Harry said softly, but his voice was easily heard in the utter silence. "That was an order."


	12. In The Dark I See

**Warning**: some sexual content

* * *

**Chapter 12 **

**In The Dark I See**

"—you bastard—you prick! Your parents are probably rolling in their graves! I can't believe I called you my friend!"

"I can't believe, either," Harry said, turning away from Ron.

"I'm not done talking to you!"

"_I'm _done," Harry grated out, undressing for the night.

Getting into his bed, he shut the hangings in front of Ron's furious face.

Truth be told, he was sick of Ron's self-righteous attitude. Yes, he was a bastard and an arsehole and Ron had every right to be angry on his sister's behalf, but Ron was starting to cross the line, dragging his parents into it. If he'd had to listen to Ron's rant any longer, he knew he would have done something he would really regret—something similar to what he'd done to Nott.

Harry's stomach clenched at the memory. It would be a lie to say he hadn't enjoyed it. He enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than he should have. The sickening part was…he wanted to feel it again. Feeling so completely in control…He couldn't stop thinking about it. Couldn't stop wanting it. And the longer Ron yelled at him, the harder he wanted to crush Ron's will with his magic. He had barely stopped himself. He was this close to doing it.

He wondered if that was how one started turning into a Dark Lord.

Normally, he would have laughed at the mere idea—he certainly didn't want to be another Voldemort—but he couldn't deny that a part of him rather liked the idea of changing the Wizarding World and making it the way _he_ wanted it. Because the truth was, nothing had changed after the war. Despite Kingsley's efforts, the Ministry was just as ineffective at managing the Wizarding World as ever, its laws archaic and often outrageous.

The Muggleborn-Pureblood relations were actually worse than before the war. The only difference was, now Muggleborn wizards were the ones who thought themselves superior to Purebloods, since they were on the winning side. Many Purebloods suspected of being Voldemort sympathizers had lost their properties and prominent positions, and as a result, the resentment was growing. Even at Hogwarts, it had become more and more noticeable. The Slytherin House had never been popular, but before the war, Slytherins had never been looked down upon, as they were now. In return, Slytherins became even more hostile and secluded. Harry suspected that McGonagall had foreseen it and that was why she put the eighth years in the Slytherin dorms, but if that was her plan, it had failed spectacularly. The non-Slytherin eighth years weren't inclined to befriend Slytherins, and Slytherins didn't even let them in their common room.

Considering that both sides lost a lot of people in the war, some tension was only natural, but instead of lessening with time, it only grew. With the way things had been progressing, Harry wouldn't be surprised if there was another war on the horizon.

And it pissed him off that it had been all for nothing: the war, the deaths, the sacrifices. Yes, Voldemort was dead, and the war was over, but nothing had changed for the better. Instead, resentment and paranoia only grew. People were afraid of their own shadow, seeing dark wizards everywhere and blaming them for everything—and believing Skeeter's tales so easily.

_And to think I died for them_, he thought bitterly and, sighing, rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

Soon enough, he dozed off.

His eyes snapped open when someone pulled apart the bed hangings. Harry stiffened, reaching under the pillow for his wand.

Expecting Ron, he turned onto his back and squinted into the darkness. "Malfoy?"

Draco climbed into the bed and pulled the hangings close again.

Harry's eyebrows flew up. "Are you mad? If Ron sees you in my bed, he'd get the wrong idea and wouldn't leave you alone."

"Weasley's out with Granger, and Thomas is asleep." Malfoy's voice sounded strange. "Damn it, Potter, is that true?"

Reaching for his glasses, Harry put them on and dragged the sheets up to his waist. "_Lumos_. Depends on what you're talking about."

Malfoy looked at his naked chest and flushed. Averting his gaze, he cleared his throat slightly. "The entire House is talking about you. They say you _ordered _everyone to stay out of your business and to leave you alone, and that you made Nott, of all people, grovel at your feet and say that he'd do anything you want. Is that true?"

Harry leaned back against the headboard and shrugged. "More or less."

Malfoy stared. "They also say you let your magic out and..." He swallowed visibly. "Those who'd seen the Dark Lord said your magic felt _exactly _like his."

Harry went still, his mouth going dry. "Yeah?"

Malfoy looked uneasy. "Apparently, yes. And everyone says that His powers transferred to you when he died."

Harry shook his head. "I just made it up when Slytherins accused me of fighting against my own kind. The truth is much more complicated and far less exciting." He smiled crookedly. "And all right, maybe I also wanted to scare them, just a bit."

Malfoy looked at him for a few moments. "You know, you surprise me, Potter."

Harry laughed quietly. "Sometimes I surprise myself, too."

Malfoy shook his head slowly. "Potter, you do realize what you have done, right? You _ordered _Slytherins around as though you had every right to do so. By doing that, you challenged Vergne. He would be seen as weak if he doesn't do something about you. It doesn't help that you let everyone see how powerful you are."

"Why?" Harry said, though he had an inkling why.

Malfoy looked uncomfortable. "All Dark wizards are drawn to power, Potter. We practice old magic, so we're attuned to raw natural magic much better than Light wizards. And a wizard of Lord-level power has so much magic that it draws us in, affecting us the same way old dark spells do. That is why even the members of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses grovel at Dark Lords' feet. It's a natural pull that is hard to resist." His gaze dropped. "Many of the Dark Lord's followers hated him, Potter. Many strongly disagreed with his views and methods. But they still stayed by his side, and not out of fear—at least not only—but because they couldn't resist the pull of his power and believed he could give them the power they sought."

"Is that why your family followed Voldemort?" Harry said quietly.

Malfoy grimaced, shrugging slightly, but Harry took it as a yes. "So after seeing—feeling—how powerful you are, Slytherins would be naturally inclined to do as you wish, because it would feel right. I have no clue why Vergne hides his true power, but now, if he wants to stay in control of the House, he will be forced to reveal it. Rosier says Vergne was furious when he was told about what happened."

"Was he," Harry murmured. Tom was furious and feeling out of control? Good.

"Are you _smiling_, Potter?" Malfoy said incredulously. "You're a fool to underestimate Vergne."

"Believe me, I don't underestimate him," Harry said with a twisted smile. A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine. "And yes, I know exactly what I have done."

Malfoy gave him a strange look. It seemed like he wanted to ask something.

"So," Harry said, not really wanting to talk about Tom. "How's your plan going on? I mean Rosier."

Malfoy made a face. "Must we talk about it?"

Smiling, Harry shrugged. "Why not? I rather like the idea of talking about someone else's problems for a change. So I take it your plan isn't going well?"

Malfoy grimaced. "The prat is being... difficult. No matter how hard I try to convince him to go out and be seen socializing with me, he ignores all my subtle hints. All he wants to do is fuck."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I thought you weren't letting him fuck you."

Scowling, Malfoy lifted his chin defensively. "I wasn't, but it's bloody impossible to stop the brute if he wants something!"

Harry tried to hide his amusement. "Rosier doesn't really strike me as a bloke who forces someone unwilling."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "What are you implying here, Potter?"

"Nothing at all," Harry said. His gaze dropped to Malfoy's neck. "That's quite a love bite."

Malfoy's hand flew up to his neck. "I'm going to kill him," he said, scowling.

"Here, let me heal it." Cancelling the _Lumos_, Harry reached for Malfoy in the darkness.

"Stop groping me, Potter."

"I'm not groping you. Be still—"

Harry cut himself off and tensed, listening.

"What?" Malfoy said.

Harry hushed him, his pulse picking up. "Someone's in the room." And he had a good idea who it was. The wizard's magic felt too familiar.

Harry thought quickly. "Play along with me," he whispered and pushed Malfoy on his back, covering Malfoy's mouth with a hand to muffle his squeak.

Quickly unbuttoning Malfoy's pyjamas, he rolled on top of him and buried his face in his neck. Under him, Malfoy went rigid. "Potter, what are you—"

"Shh," Harry hissed, listening.

The bed hangings were pulled apart.

"Lumos," a familiar voice said.

Harry lifted his face from Malfoy's neck and turned his head towards the visitor.

Riddle's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at them.

Harry hid a smile, knowing how it looked like: Malfoy under him, Harry half-naked, Malfoy's pyjamas top unbuttoned, one shoulder bared, a giant love bite on Malfoy's neck. It couldn't be more perfect.

"What do you want, Tom?" Harry said, sitting up and pulling Malfoy into a sitting position, as well. He tugged Malfoy closer, stroking his bare shoulder with his thumb; Malfoy stiffened. Tom's eyes followed the movement of Harry's thumb. "We are rather busy," Harry said, watching Tom's expression. "So if you have something to say, make it quick."

Riddle's jaw worked, eyes blazing as he looked at Malfoy. "Get out."

His tone was very soft, but Malfoy flinched. Freeing himself from Harry's half-embrace, he looked between Harry and Tom, his expression speculative.

"Out," Riddle snapped and Malfoy practically fell out of the bed in his haste. He got into his own bed and pulled the hangings close.

"How rude, Tom. Where are your manners?"

A muscle in Tom's jaw twitched. "I need to talk you. Come with me."

"Nope, I'm good here," Harry said, leaning back against the pillows.

He watched as Tom's eyes swept down his bare chest to his stomach before lingering on the sheets that covered his hips. Inwardly, Harry cursed. Tom's gaze felt like a physical caress, causing a very predictable and very inconvenient reaction from his body.

"That is a private conversation," Tom said coldly with a sharp look towards Malfoy's bed.

Harry patted the mattress beside him. "Then get in, close the hangings and put a privacy ward up."

Tom sneered. "I am not getting into your bed."

"Why not? Are you scared?"

Tom gave him an unimpressed look. "Why would I be scared?"

Harry cocked his head. "Not scared? Prove it, then."

Tom pressed his lips together, but eventually sat down on the bed. A wave of his wand and the hangings were pulled close and the privacy ward was erected. Tom murmured something and a yellow ball of light appeared and hovered above their heads.

"So what are you doing here, Tom?" Harry said, trying to ignore the fact that they were both in bed. "I seem to recall something about me having to crawl to you and beg for your company. Aren't you 'bored' anymore?"

In a flash of movement, Tom's wand pressed against Harry's throat. "Listen to me," he hissed, leaning closer to his face. "You have made a big mistake today, Harry. No one crosses me. I will _crush_ you. I will destroy you. You might think you are a match for me, but you are not. You might be almost as powerful as I am, but raw power means nothing. You are a fool to think otherwise."

Harry looked down at the wand at his throat. "Almost as powerful as you are? That's not what I've heard, Tom." His lips curled up, but it wasn't exactly a smile. "Malfoy told me the truth: that I'm more powerful than you."

Riddle's eyes flashed. "Your whore knows _nothing_."

Harry smiled. "Careful, Tom. Your jealousy is showing."

Tom's wand dug harder into his neck. "Jealousy?" he said, sneering coldly. "You are deluding yourself, pet. You have always been nothing but a pawn for me—"

"Why are you here, Tom?" Harry said softly, taking Tom's jaw in his hand. "Why did you come if I bore you, if I'm nothing but a pawn for you, if you're not threatened and don't think of me as your match?" He chuckled, looking Tom right in the eyes. "Why did you come to my room at night? To tell me that I'm insignificant to you? Or did you come for something else?"

"You are a delusional fool."

"I think I'm not the one deluding myself."

Tom grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and yanked him closer. "Listen to me, Harry," he said, very softly, their breaths mixing. "You may delude yourself as much as you like. I could not care less about your foolish delusions. I am here to tell you that I do not appreciate you ordering my followers. You are not their Lord. _I _am."

In a swift movement, Harry shoved Tom on his back, pinning him down with his body. "Now _you _listen to me," he said harshly, propping himself on his elbows above Tom. "You basically made me what I am, and now you have the nerve to bitch that I don't know my place?" He leaned down right to Riddle's face. "_Fuck_ you, Tom. I honestly had no desire to be someone's Lord—I just wanted to be left alone and show Slytherins that they shouldn't mess with me—but now? I think I might change my mind. Just to spite you."

Tom hissed. "You would not. Even if you could acquire followers, what would you do with them? You do not have in you what it takes to be a Dark Lord. You might be Dark, and you might be angry at your friends and schoolmates, but deep down, you are too 'good' and too soft to want to rule the Wizarding World."

Harry smiled darkly. "Are you so sure of that, Tom?" Leaning down to Riddle's ear, he bit it. "Don't you remember that just a few days ago, you were on your knees, forced to kiss my shoes and suck me off? I assure you, I very much enjoyed it. A _good _person wouldn't." He felt Tom shiver under him. Harry ground down his hips, and yes, Tom was just as aroused as he was.

"And today, with Nott, I loved it, too," he whispered, licking and sucking Tom's earlobe. "It felt so good seeing that arrogant prick grovelling at my feet and ready to do _anything_ I wanted." Harry ground his hips again. "I bet if I wanted, I could have made him suck me off right there, in front of the crowd of Slytherins. And it _was_ a turn on, though Nott does nothing for me. It was a turn on because I loved having so much power over him. So don't tell me I don't have it in me—I do."

"Being a Dark Lord is more than just getting off on power," Tom said, sneering. "You do not want another war. You do not want to fight against your friends."

"Who said anything about a war?" Harry said, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down Tom's ear to his neck. "Voldemort's methods aren't mine. If I wanted to rule the Wizarding World, I would have used other, smarter ways to reach my goals. And you should, too." He bit Tom's neck.

"Stop gnawing my neck," Riddle said irritably, but his fingers buried in Harry's hair and were pressing him closer to his skin.

Panting, Harry sucked the skin into his mouth, wanting—needing—to leave a mark on him. That burning, ugly desire was taking over, making it hard to think or talk. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to fuck, and to take. "I don't bloody want another war." Loosening Tom's tie, he sucked on the skin of his collarbone, fingers working on the buttons of his shirt. "I'm willing to work _with_ you as long as you don't use Voldemort's methods. We can achieve a lot." _Together_.

"I do not share power with anyone," Tom hissed and made another hissing sound when Harry pushed his shirt open and latched on his nipple. He moaned quietly as Harry sucked on it hard, twisting the other nipple with his fingers.

"Not even with me?" Harry said, moving to the other nipple and licking it.

Tom was breathing as hard as him now. "I told you—you mean nothing to me."

Harry chuckled harshly, pressing kisses down Tom's chest, to his stomach. God, his skin was silky-soft and smelt delicious. "You're giving the opposite impression right now," he said, stroking Riddle's erection through the fabric of his trousers. "I bet you'd even let me fuck you."

Tom went rigid under him before shoving him away and sitting up. "I do not share power," he hissed again, buttoning his shirt quickly. His fingers were trembling.

Grabbing his wand, he turned to leave, but Harry grabbed him from behind, pressing Tom's back to his bare chest. "Think about it," he said into his ear hotly. "You're either with me, or against me. If you're against me, _I_ will crush you. Don't think I can't—or won't." He trailed his lips all over Tom's neck, kissing and sucking his skin hungrily.

Tom let him do it for a few moments before wrenching himself free and leaving without a single word.

Harry fell back and stared up at the canopy of his bed, trying to suppress the violent urge to go after Tom and finish what they started.

"Well, well, well," Draco drawled from his bed.

"Shut up, Malfoy," he said and didn't recognize his own voice.


	13. Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon

**A/N:** To those who asked me for a sequel to 'Painted Veil': I'm sorry, but it's not very likely.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. It means a lot.

**Warnings: **violence, Tom being a cruel bastard.

* * *

**Interlude II: **

**Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon**

Draco Malfoy wasn't a morning person.

He hated mornings and hated morning people: those irritating bastards who were as chirpy as birds as soon as they opened their eyes. So he was quite understandably irritated when some first year rudely shook him awake that morning. It was Saturday, damn it. Saturday meant it was the weekend and the weekend meant sleeping in and not waking up at seven—seven!—o'clock. Considering that he fell asleep very late last night thanks to the whole Potter-Vergne thing, Draco had every right to throw a pillow at the little prat's head.

"Get up, Malfoy!" the midget said again and had the nerve to throw the pillow back at him. "Vergne wants to see you."

Draco's angry retort died on his lips.

His eyes snapped open.

"Now?" he said warily.

"He said immediately," the boy said impatiently. "He's waiting for you in Slytherin's study."

His mind racing, Draco stumbled out of the bed.

He told himself not to panic, but it was hard not to panic, considering that Slytherin's study was one of the few places in the castle where dark magic couldn't be detected.

Using a cleaning charm on himself, Draco quickly dressed and left the dormitory. He'd rather not annoy Vergne by being late.

It was very early in the morning, but there were already people up and around. Draco ignored them all, trying to calm himself as he walked. He had nothing to be afraid of. He'd done nothing wrong. Well, he supposed Vergne might be annoyed with him for finding him in Potter's bed. There was clearly something going on between those two. Even though Potter had refused to talk about it when he had asked, Draco was far from stupid. He might not know for certain what they had been doing behind the closed hangings, but he saw how dishevelled Vergne looked when he left.

And a part of him… A part of him couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. Just a bit. Draco was totally over Potter, of course; he just wondered sometimes. He wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by Potter. It was something he had been wondering for years, so it was totally understandable.

Draco scowled. Potter's kisses would probably feel beyond amazing, considering the fact that lately, even Rosier's horrible kisses didn't seem all that horrible. His standards were clearly slipping.

Taking a deep breath in, Draco stopped before the seemingly ordinary wall and tapped on it with his wand in an intricate pattern very few Slytherins knew of.

The stone wall slid open, revealing a room. Gripping his wand in his pocket, Draco went inside. The door shut behind him.

Vergne stood by the window, looking into the Black Lake's depths. He didn't turn around when Draco entered.

Draco stared at his profile.

_A bloke shouldn't be beautiful_, he thought blankly, but that was the only word to adequately describe how good Vergne looked. Vergne's face was bloody perfect: his dark eyelashes were outrageously long, his skin was perfectly smooth and flawless, his lips were perfectly sculpted, his nose was perfectly straight, and his dark eyes were perfectly shaped and deep. His body was just as perfectly put together: he was tall, but not too tall or lanky; he was toned, but not overly muscled; and his posture was so graceful it made Draco envious.

But something about all that perfection seemed...off. Draco always felt more than a little uncomfortable in Vergne's presence, though he couldn't quite explain why. He suspected a part of the problem was that he felt drawn towards Vergne's power despite his Occlumency shields, and he didn't like it. Draco had no problem being drawn to Potter's power because he trusted Potter to be Gryffindor enough and not to use it against him. He didn't trust Vergne one bit.

His feeling of uneasiness grew the longer the silence stretched.

Finally, Draco couldn't stand it any longer. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Vergne didn't turn around. "Indeed. Let me tell you a story, Draco."

Draco blinked but said nothing.

"When I was six years old," Vergne said, still looking at the Black Lake. "I bought myself a book. I had been saving for it for months, so I was quite fond of it. Then, another boy from the neighbourhood decided that he was fond of my book, too. He stole it. Do you want to know what happened afterwards, Draco?"

Draco swallowed hard, his pulse picking up. "You confronted him?"

"I wanted to," Vergne said, his voice soft and smooth. "But unfortunately, he had an _accident _the next day, slipping and falling down the stairs. He broke his neck. Very unfortunate, is it not?"

Draco stared at his profile, his palms suddenly sweaty. "Very."

He stepped back to the door.

Vergne turned to him. "Going somewhere, Draco?" he said, eyes piercing him.

Draco wet his lips. "N-no. I mean yes. I just remembered that I had something to do—"

Vergne smiled a smile that made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand up. "Do you?"

"Y-yes." Draco bolted to the door.

Vergne _hissed_ something harshly and the door disappeared.

Draco froze, staring at the blank wall where the door used to be. It was impossible. _Impossible_. Vergne wasn't the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was dead. Dead, dead, dead.

But the legend said only someone of Slytherin's blood could truly control the room.

Draco bit his lip hard as he heard Vergne approach him.

Slowly, he turned around. He was trembling, but he forced himself to look Vergne in the eyes.

He wished he hadn't. The expression in them made him flinch.

"Draco, Draco, Draco," Vergne said softly, shaking his head slightly, as though Draco had greatly disappointed him. "I was not done talking."

"Look," Draco said quickly. "There was nothing between Potter and me. You got it wrong, I swear! You've got nothing to be jealous over!"

Now there was a mad gleam in Vergne's eyes. He whipped his wand up and pressed it against Draco's neck. "Do you take me for an idiot?" he said, practically hissing the words out. "I saw you."

Draco shook his head. "I s-swear it wasn't what it looked like! He was trying to heal the bruise on my neck!"

Vergne's smile made Draco's stomach twist with dread. "Well, there is a way to confirm whether you are telling the truth or not." Taking Draco's chin in his hand, he gripped it painfully and slammed into his mind, making him drop to his knees with a choked cry. Vergne tore into his thoughts and memories, and Draco moaned in unbearable pain, but after a few moments, managed to put his Occlumency shields up again. Then he doubled over and threw up.

He stayed on the floor, shaking with his whole body. The last and only other time he had been mind-raped by someone, it was the Dark Lord. No one else had ever penetrated his mind, not even Dumbledore, and not for the lack of trying. He knew he had a gift for Occlumency, rivalled only by Snape's. And yet Vergne penetrated his shields so easily—and it felt exactly like the time the Dark Lord had done that.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be.

With a trembling hand, Draco waved his wand, muttering a cleaning charm. Slowly, he got to his feet, trying to ignore the pounding pain in his skull.

"You have impressive Occlumency skills, Draco," Vergne said, his voice deceivingly soft once again. "But not good enough to throw me out of your mind immediately. I may not have seen the events of the last night, but I have seen enough. And I believe you."

Draco's shoulders sagged in relief.

"I do believe that there was nothing between you and Harry—because I saw you wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by him."

Draco stiffened and looked at Vergne, whose eyes bore into him with such rage that he stepped back.

"You were wondering what his mouth and hands would feel like on your body," Vergne said softly. "You were wondering what it would feel like to be fucked by him."

Draco flushed. He lifted his chin. "Thinking isn't a crime."

Vergne waved his hand and Draco was slammed hard into the wall. He moaned, nearly blacking out from pain.

"That is where you are wrong, Draco," Vergne said, walking to him.

Draco tried to move but found that he couldn't, his body pinned to the wall by an invisible force. He tried not to panic but failed.

Vergne stopped in front of him, their faces inches apart. "You are not allowed even to think about Harry," he said in the same soft, creepy tone. He waved his wand and Draco's balls were squeezed so hard that Draco nearly blacked out from pain again. "Harry's mouth belongs to me," Vergne hissed, repeating the curse. Draco cried out. "Harry's hands belong to me. Harry's body belongs to me. Harry belongs to _me_. Is that understood, Draco?"

"Y-yes," Draco croaked out, staring at Vergne with wide eyes. The boy was insane. Absolutely insane.

Vergne cocked his head. "I do not think you do. Perhaps you need a lesson to truly learn."

Draco frantically shook his head. He didn't think he could stand more pain. "No, I get it, I swear!"

Vergne didn't seem to hear him, his eyes gleaming madly. "You dared to think about Harry belonging to you. Fucking you. Harry would never touch a pathetic idiot like you, much less fuck you. But I am a generous person. Perhaps I should give you the fucking you need."

Draco's jaw dropped. "What? You—"

Vergne smiled. "No. Not me, Draco. But I have a perfect candidate to do the job." Before Draco could say anything, Vergne hissed something and a big black snake appeared on the floor. Vergne petted its head. "Hello, gorgeous," he murmured smoothly. "I have a job for you." He looked at Draco and hissed something to the snake.

The creature slithered towards Draco.

Draco's eyes widened when he realized what was on Vergne's mind. He shook his head desperately. "You're sick! You won't!"

Vergne responded by vanishing Draco's clothes.

"No—no, please," Draco croaked out, staring at the snake that nudged its huge head against his arsehole. He was shaking so badly now that he was on the verge of throwing up. "Don't—"

Vergne vanished the snake. Draco sobbed out in relief.

"I do hope you have learned your lesson," the bastard said pleasantly.

"Y-yes," Draco whispered, biting his lip. He had no doubt now that if there really had been something between him and Potter, Vergne would have killed him without a second thought.

"Good. I am glad we understand each other, Draco."

Draco looked up at him.

He stared at that beautiful face and had never felt sorrier for Potter. Vergne's fixation on Potter was unhealthy at best. For Potter's sake, he hoped Potter knew what he was doing.

"What do you want with him?" Draco blurted out before he could stop himself. "Potter is the type to want love and I can't see you giving it to him. He might lust after you, but sex wouldn't be enough for him, and sooner or later, he would leave you."

Vergne went very still, paling.

Draco paled, too, wishing he kept his mouth shut.

Then Vergne said a single word,

"_Crucio_."

After that, everything was a blur of pain. It was like being torn apart limb from limb and slashed to pieces with a knife. Gradually, his senses dulled, open only to the torture. It went on and on, until Draco was screaming and sobbing.

It ended very abruptly. He was dropped unceremoniously to the stone floor, making him groan again. Greedily taking gulps of air, Draco opened his wet eyes. Vergne was looming over him. "What I want with Harry is none of your concern," he hissed out. "And you couldn't be more wrong. I understand Harry in a way no one else does. You are simply a jealous, pathetic idiot, and I pity you. Harry has never wanted you. He wants _me_. He is mine and will always be mine—well, that is, until I get bored of him. Is that understood? Or do you need another Cruciatus?"

Draco shook his head dazedly, on the verge of passing out.

"And it goes without saying that this conversation never took place."

Draco thought he nodded but he wasn't sure. He didn't even notice when Vergne left, his head pounding and his entire body aching with pain.

He must have passed out because when he next opened his eyes, almost all of the candles had been burnt out, the room nearly dark. Hours must have passed.

Draco tried to move, but the pain was so intense that he nearly passed out again. Damn it, he had never felt so shitty after a Cruciatus Curse in his life. He must have misjudged Vergne's magical strength and he was actually more powerful than Potter. Or perhaps, he had just hit a bit close to home and Vergne put so much intent into the curse that it made the Dark Lord's Cruciatus pale in comparison.

Whatever the reason was, Draco couldn't move. He was freezing, but couldn't even reach for his wand and conjure something to cover his naked body.

He stared at the ceiling, wondering if anyone had even noticed that he was missing. He wondered if anyone would even bother to look for him. Who really cared that much?

The answer was obvious: no one.

His vision blurred. No, he wasn't crying. A Malfoy never cried, damn it. A Malfoy sneered at his misfortune. A Malfoy—

Draco wanted his mum.

He heard the door open but couldn't even turn his head. It was probably Vergne anyway—very few people knew how to get into this room. Vergne probably came to finish him off.

"Malfoy?"

Draco bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Rosier. Bloody hell, how humiliating.

"Merlin." He felt Rosier kneel down next to him. "What the— What's wrong with you?"

"Cruciatus," Draco croaked out, forcing himself to open his eyes.

Rosier stared at him. "You are freezing."

He carefully lifted Draco and cradled him against his chest.

"Hurts," Draco said, hating how small his voice sounded. And he hated how his body leaned into Rosier's, seeking his warmth and strength.

"I know," Rosier said, stroking his back carefully, massaging the muscles.

Draco whimpered in pain but knew it was necessary. Ideally, he needed a muscle relaxant potion, but that would help, too.

Biting his lip, he buried his face in Rosier's neck.

"It was Vergne, wasn't it?" Rosier said suddenly, his voice terse. "Of course it was Vergne. Who else."

Draco stiffened. "Forget about him," he said hoarsely. "And forget about your plans to backstab him." Potter was probably the only one who could handle Vergne. "He's not someone either of us should mess with." He snorted, bitterly. "I learned my lesson."

Rosier said nothing for a while, just pulled Draco tighter to himself.

"Did he… Did he touch you?" Rosier's voice sounded odd. "You are naked."

Draco thought of the snake and shivered. "No."

"You are still shivering," Rosier said. "Can you walk?"

Draco tried to move his limbs. Now that he wasn't so freezing, they felt a bit better. "I can try."

Carefully, Rosier got to his feet and put Draco down, supporting him. Draco had to lean heavily on him but he stood. Sort of. Rosier pulled off his robes and wrapped them around Draco. They were too long and too big for him, but they were warm and smelled of something vaguely comforting.

"Let's try walking," Rosier said.

Draco looked at him suspiciously. Why was he so _good_ to him all of a sudden? Rosier was never good to him except right after the sex. The rest of the time, he was nasty to him.

Frowning, Draco tried to walk, but his knees gave out. Rosier caught him. "All right," he sighed, lifting Draco like he weighed nothing. "I'll carry you."

Draco glared at him. "Over my dead body. Put me down at once!"

Rosier glared back. "I had to search for you all over the castle, Draco, so I'm _really_ not in the mood for your hissy fits."

"Oh," Draco said. "You looked for me?"

Rosier gave him an odd look. "Of course I did. You have been gone for half a day."

Draco looked away before looking back at Rosier. Then, driven by impulse, he pecked him on the cheek. "Thanks."

Rosier stared at him.

Draco flushed and averted his gaze. "Are you going to stand here all day, or what?" he snapped. "I'm freezing!"

Rosier, thankfully, didn't comment on his moment of madness and started moving.

Draco hid his flushed face in Rosier's neck and hoped no one would see them. He would never, ever live this down.

It was all Vergne's fault, damn it.

Vindictively, Draco hoped Potter would stomp all over Vergne. He was the only one who could do it. After all, Vergne wasn't a totally emotionless bastard. He was a sick bastard, but an infatuated one.

And that was a major weakness.


	14. Into the Monster's Lair

**Chapter 14:**

**Into the Monster's Lair **

...

Harry spent most of the morning flying, away from the gossip and stares—just him, the broom and the wind. Merlin, he sometimes wished he could stay in the air forever. Today was one of those days.

But there was an insistent itch that couldn't be scratched by flying, so after a few hours, Harry got off the broom in the Forbidden Forest. Last night, after Tom had left, he couldn't sleep and spent hours reading, devouring the books Kreacher had brought from the Black library for him. Now he wanted to try a few of those spells. Dark magic was many things—addictive, twisted and cruel—but it never failed to make him relax when he was frustrated.

He intended to try just a few spells, but he ended up trying a lot more than that.

Hours later, as his spell ripped off yet another acromantula's legs, Harry realized he was grinning like a madman. He looked around, taking in the destroyed clearing and the pile of dead spiders, and thought,

_I'm a dark wizard_. _I really am._

And for the first time, he felt truly at peace with that.

It was well into the afternoon when he finally returned to his dorm, tired but in a much better mood than he had been.

Harry frowned, noticing that Malfoy's bed hangings were drawn shut. Malfoy usually wasn't one for afternoon naps.

"Just the person I wanted to talk to."

Harry's head snapped towards the voice.

Rosier was sprawled in the only chair in the room, his posture relaxed but face unusually grim and serious.

His eyebrows furrowing, Harry put the broom into his trunk and turned back to him. "Well?"

Rosier didn't speak immediately.

"Listen, Potter," he said at last. He grimaced. "I'm not sure I should be talking to you about this, but... Keep your boy in check, damn it."

Harry stared at him. A strange feeling coiled in his lower abdomen, but he shook it off. "Vergne isn't 'my boy.'"

Rosier chuckled. "Do you take me for an idiot, Potter? I know you two are involved. So it makes Vergne your responsibility."

Harry decided that arguing wasn't worth the effort. "What has he done?"

Rosier glanced at Malfoy's bed before looking back at him. "An hour ago, I found Malfoy in Salazar Slytherin's secret study. He was lying on the floor, barely conscious, unable to move and nearly frozen. He was tortured, Potter. He only admitted that a Cruciatus Curse had been used on him, but I also recognized the signs of forced Legilimency and of another nasty dark curse." He paused, his jaw working. "He was also naked, and even though he denied it, I think something was done to him. I asked him if it was Vergne. He didn't deny it but refused to talk about it. Vergne probably threatened him not to say anything to anyone, or else." Rosier's lips thinned. "I have never seen Malfoy so…weak and terrified."

Harry's fingers curled into a fist. Bloody hell. His first urge was to storm out of the room, find Tom, and have a little talk with him, but he stopped himself. No. First, he had to find out what exactly had happened.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing through his gritted teeth. "I need to talk to Malfoy." He turned to Draco's bed.

"No."

Harry looked back at him. "What?"

Rosier stood up, his expression hostile. "He's asleep and the last thing he now needs is to talk about what happened to him."

"You can't forbid me to talk to him, Sebastian. You are neither family nor his boyfriend." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Or are you?"

A muscle in Rosier's jaw flexed. "No."

Harry walked to Malfoy's bed and opened the bed hangings.

Draco wasn't asleep. He was lying on his back, a blanket drawn to his chin. He glared weakly at Rosier. "I asked you to keep your mouth shut, but I was an idiot to believe you'd keep the promise."

"I promised nothing," Rosier said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a bed poster.

"How are you feeling?" Harry spoke up before their argument could escalate.

Malfoy snorted. "As if you care, Potter."

Harry frowned. "I do. I thought we were friends. Sort of." He shrugged slightly, well aware that Rosier was watching him like a hawk. "What did Tom do to you?"

Malfoy laughed, bitterly. "Do me a favour, Potter. Never—_never_—drag me again into your fucked-up relationship with Vergne, you hear me?"

Harry's stomach dropped, his suspicions confirmed. "So it was about me."

Malfoy closed his eyes, his lips twisting. "I'm not talking about it, Potter. I'm tired and I feel shitty as fuck. Go away."

"Not until you tell me everything," Harry said. "I need to know."

Malfoy's eyes snapped open. "Fuck you, Potter. Why should I get myself tortured again just to satisfy your curiosity?" He turned his back to him.

Harry eyed his stiff back. He sighed. "Look, Draco. I'm really sorry. It's my fault, so you're totally right to blame me, but I honestly never expected something like that to happen."

Malfoy was silent for so long that Harry started thinking he wasn't going to say anything at all.

"I'll tell you one thing, Potter," he said finally, his voice tight. "He's crazy. He's absolutely insane. His thing for you is unhealthy as fuck."

Harry's mouth went dry. "What are you talking about?"

Malfoy turned back to look at him. His face was even paler than usual. "That sort of possessiveness and jealousy is beyond anything I've ever seen. If there really was something between us, he would have killed me, Potter. And I'm not exaggerating here."

Harry stared at him.

Then he turned around and walked out of the room. He'd heard enough.

As soon as he entered the common room, a hush fell over it. Ignoring the looks, Harry grabbed the nearest Slytherin. "Take me to Vergne's room."

The boy looked at him with wide eyes and didn't move.

"Now!" Harry snapped.

The kid nodded and nearly ran to one of the corridors. Harry followed, trying not to lose him in the darkness. Salazar's annoying charm was as annoying as ever.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the boy stopped in front of the door. "Here."

"You can go," Harry said flatly.

The kid left hurriedly.

Harry took a deep breath in and then rapped on the door.

He felt Riddle's magic reach out and touch him curiously. Harry let it, wondering grimly when he had become so sensitive to magic; a few weeks ago, he probably wouldn't have noticed a thing.

The magic retreated. The door cracked open.

Harry went inside.

The room was similar to his, but he was surprised to see that it had only one bed.

The fire cracked merrily in the fireplace.

Riddle was seated in an armchair, his posture relaxed and face completely inscrutable. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry studied him, wondering what approach to use. He knew he would accomplish nothing by yelling and raging at Tom, though he would have done exactly that a month ago. But then, a month ago, he was a walking wreck of magic and hormones. Inwardly, Harry cringed at the memory. The truth was, if Tom hadn't manipulated and dragged him into the Dark Arts, he still would have been that wreck, if not worse.

The silence stretched.

Tom broke it first. "I do not have all day, pet," he said coldly, looking mildly annoyed and not at all pleased to see him.

And that was something that confused and irritated Harry to no end. Riddle's actions and words constantly contradicted each other. He still didn't know why Tom had spent so much effort on 'turning' him into a dark wizard. It made no sense whatsoever: Tom clearly didn't want competition and yet he had helped Harry with his wild magic, despite knowing how powerful Harry was.

"Well?" Riddle said impatiently.

And suddenly, he knew exactly what to do.

Harry walked over to him and, kneeling in front him, took his hands in his.

Tom's eyes widened and then narrowed. "What is the meaning of this?"

Harry looked down at the pale, soft hands in his Quidditch-calloused ones. He brought them to his lips and kissed the knuckles. "Have you had fun torturing Draco?" he said pleasantly.

He felt Tom tense up. To his credit, he didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. "Why are you not angry?" he said, clearly thrown off balance.

Harry smiled at him and kissed his fingers. "Oh, I'm angry. I'm very unhappy with you, Tom." He stopped smiling, his eyes hardening. "So I'm going to ask you one question and you're going to give me an honest answer. Depending on your answer, I'll decide how to deal with you."

Tom sneered. "'Deal with me'? I am not—"

"Don't try my patience, Tom. I'm not in the best of moods right now."

Riddle gave him a long look before pursing his lips. "Very well. You may ask."

His condescending tone nearly made Harry smile. He didn't. Watching Tom's expression, he said, "Why did you torture Draco?"

He knew why, of course. He needed to hear that.

"I do not have to explain myself to you," Tom said coldly.

"Yes, you do. I want an explanation. And a good one, or I'm going to McGonagall and telling her you used Cruciatus on another student." He was bluffing, but Tom didn't know that.

Tom stiffened. "You will not do it."

"Try me."

Tom studied his face before scowling. "I tortured him because he annoyed me."

"Not good enough."

Tom glared at him, wrenching his hands free and getting to his feet. He turned away, clearly agitated.

Harry got to his feet, as well, and stepped closer to him. "Come on, Tom," he said against his ear from behind. He touched his arm tentatively. "Tell me." He pressed his nose against Tom's hair and took a careful breath in. God, he smelled good. "Tell me the truth for once. It's not that hard. No matter what you say, I promise not to use it against you."

Tom's body was rigid against him, his breathing uneven. "I don't know what you expect me to say," he said, his tone clipped.

Harry sighed and, wrapping his free arm around Tom's waist, pulled him closer to himself. It pleased him more than it probably should have that Tom didn't even try to pull away, and he couldn't help but think how perfectly their bodies fit together. "All right, I'll make it easier for you." Harry pressed his lips to the back of Tom's neck—not, exactly, kissing—just nuzzling it greedily. He knew if he started kissing it, he wouldn't be able to stop. He already had trouble thinking, acutely aware of their bodies, Tom's silky skin against his lips, his scent, the intoxicating magic humming under Tom's skin, strong, dark and delicious. "Were you jealous?"

"He told you," Tom breathed out darkly. "He _told_."

"No, he didn't. And if you hurt Draco again, I will hurt you, and I'm not saying this lightly."

"How touching," Tom said flatly and Harry swore under his breath, practically feeling the boy's defences going up again.

"All right, enough," he ground out and forced Tom to turn around. "I'm sick of this. Stop being a bloody coward and man up, Tom."

Riddle's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Harry gripped his arm harder. "Just what I said. You're an insecure little boy who can't even own up to his actions. You're brave enough to torture and bully someone weaker than you, but you can't even admit aloud why you did it."

Tom's lips curling into an ugly sneer. "A coward? I'm not a coward. Very well, I will tell you why I did it, darling." His tone was deceivingly soft but his eyes were flashing madly. "I did it because _no one_ takes away my possessions. No one! That whore had it coming. I saw his thoughts, Harry. He only pretends to be your 'friend,' but he wants something else entirely. He deserved it."

Harry stared at him. He tortured Malfoy for _thinking_?

"I'm not your bloody possession," he grated out. "I seem to recall something about me being nothing to you. Those are your own words, so you have no right to feel that way. Unless we're something to each other, it's none of your business who I fuck, who I date or who I love. You can't have it both ways, Tom." Looking him in the eyes, he said, "I told you yesterday that you're either with me, or against me. Have you made the decision?"

"There is no decision to make," Tom said coldly. "I do not share power and I am not willing to let someone dictate how I should or shouldn't acquire it."

Harry smiled humourlessly. "So you're choosing to be against me. You want us to be enemies, just like me and Voldemort. The only difference is, I'm much more powerful now than I was when I defeated him. And thanks to you, I'm in perfect control of my magic now." Harry cocked his head. "Why, Tom? It doesn't make any sense. Wasn't it counterproductive to your plans? I've asked you this before, but I didn't get a logical answer." He studied Tom's face, which became even blanker than before. Harry's lips curled slightly. "Or maybe there isn't one? Maybe there's no logical answer because you weren't thinking logically." He leaned in and brushed his lips along Tom's jawline. Fuck. He wanted to suck, kiss, bite—wanted to mark him. "Maybe you just told yourself that there's a logical, Slytherin reason for talking to me, but there wasn't. Maybe you did it on a whim. Maybe you just wanted."

Tom took a shaky breath in. "You are ridiculous," he said coldly.

Harry pulled away, his jaw clenching. "Maybe I am. But it doesn't matter. If you're so set on being another Voldemort, _this _is pointless. I'm not interested."

Something flashed through Tom's eyes. "Are you threatening me? Do you really think that I would rethink all my plans for something as pathetic as primitive lust? If so, you are an idiot."

Harry smiled ruefully. "No, I don't. I'm sure that you are above 'primitive lust.' I'm just telling you as it is. I'm not saying I'm a saint—I'm not—but I have principles I'd like to hold onto. I told you: if you choose to be against me, then you are against me. You chose. This is it. I'd say we are done, but we've never actually been anything." Harry looked at Tom's inscrutable face. "You keep saying that I'm nothing to you. Well, now I can return the sentiment: you're nothing to me."

Tom didn't say anything; he seemed to be frozen in place.

"And one more thing, Tom: I don't belong to you. Don't you dare to hurt Draco again. If you do, what you did to him will be a child's play in comparison to what I'll do to you."

Tom's lips pressed into a thin line. "Don't tell me you care so much about that useless idiot."

"Yes. From now on, he's under my explicit protection."

"Is he?"

Harry locked his eyes with Tom's and smiled. "Yes. I like him a lot. He'd make a good boyfriend."

Tom stared at him for a few moments before sneering. "I know for a fact that Malfoy is involved with Rosier. I saw it in his memories."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "So? He'll dump Rosier for me. If you saw his memories, you know this. You know it's not just my arrogance speaking."

Tom gave him a derisive look. "Am I supposed to feel jealous?"

"No," Harry said, stroking Tom's cheek with his thumb, mock-affectionately. "I'm not saying this to make you jealous or anything. I'm saying this because that's what is going to happen. It might be hard to believe, but not everything is about you, Tom. The truth is, I like Draco, and he likes me. The truth is, wanting him and being with him will be so easy. He will make a good boyfriend. I'm going to fuck him, and he's going to let me—gladly." He was taking a perverse pleasure in seeing Tom's expression turn stonier with every passing second. Harry smiled at him. "But you don't care, of course. I'm nothing to you, and you can sate your _primitive lusts _elsewhere. I'll do the same."

Harry leaned in and brushed their lips together, ever so slightly. He felt Tom's lips tremble against his. "Good bye, Tom."

Tom made a hissing noise, and grabbing Harry's head, attacked his mouth with his lips. _God_. Harry kissed back, tugging him closer, angry with him and even angrier with himself for being so fucking weak.

It was a dirty, furious kiss, tongues twining, teeth clashing, and breaths swirling together in soft pants and moans, fingers grasping, and hands searching. Tom buried his hand in his hair, yanking him closer and sucking on his tongue greedily.

Harry tore his lips away, breathing hard. "No. Bloody hell, no."

"Yes," Tom hissed, pressing kisses all over his neck. "You are _mine_ and I'm not giving you to anyone."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, trying to fight down his arousal. "I don't want Voldemort, Tom."

Riddle bit him on his neck, hard. "I _am_ him, you imbecile," he said with strange anger in his voice. "Yes, I am saner and smarter than he was, but essentially, I am him, and nothing will change that."

"No, you're not—not yet." He took Tom's face in his hands and forced him to look at him. "Yes, you're a cruel, nasty, selfish little shit and you already do have some psychopathic tendencies, but you're not him yet. You can still stop."

Tom sneered. "Don't tell me you actually believe that you can turn me into a 'good' person if you 'love' me enough. That is just pathetic."

Harry smiled ruefully. "Did I say something about loving you? I don't. I don't even like you. Actually, you disgust me." He leaned his forehead against Tom's. "But even though I hate you, I give a fuck about you. Always. I _care_."

Tom's breathing hitched.

Harry's heartbeat picked up. He didn't really mean to tell him that; it was something he'd come to terms with just a few days ago and he sure as hell didn't want to give Tom another weapon against him. "I hate it," he whispered harshly against Tom's mouth, cradling his face in his hands. "I hate that I give a fuck. You're a bloody poison—but I want you. _You_, not Voldemort. For the last time—choose, Tom."

Wrenching free from Harry's grasp, Tom dropped himself back into the armchair and stared at the fireplace. His face was absolutely emotionless, but his right hand gripped the armrest so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Leave."

Harry's stomach dropped.

He told himself he was relieved.

It was for the best. Harry Potter and Tom Riddle weren't supposed to be anything but enemies. His fixation on Tom—this ugly, needy want—was irrational and unhealthy. He didn't even like Tom, for fuck's sake. There was nothing attractive about his personality. Tom was a little monster a sane person would stay away from.

It really was for the best.

Setting his jaw, Harry headed to the exit.

He was about to push the door open when Tom's voice stopped him.

"I need to think. I will tell you my decision tomorrow morning."

Harry turned his head to him, but Tom wasn't looking at him: he had his eyes closed.

Harry stared. Maybe it was the way the shadows and light of the fire fell on his face, but at that moment, Tom looked so beautiful it hurt to look and not touch.

Tearing his eyes away, Harry got out of the room and, shutting the door behind him, leaned against it heavily.

_A monster_, he reminded himself, staring blankly into the darkness.

Yes, he was.

But a beautiful one.


End file.
